


Pearl of the Evening - The Rewrite  (AKA: If it happened at Beorn's, and not in the actual evening)

by Bead



Series: Pearl of the Evening [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Attempt at a slow build, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture, F/M, Female Bilbo, First Kiss, Hobbit Courting, Hobbit Culture, Rule 63, fem!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:30:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 66,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bead/pseuds/Bead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin; an AU/remix of my own AU, Billa and Thorin coming together after the events of the Carrock.</p><p> <b><i>Should now be considered the main Pearl universe.  I'll be continuing the story from here.</i></b></p><p>(You don't have to read the others to get this one.  It depends on whether or not you'd like to see how I get all up in this remixing business)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Important Things

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Pearl of the Evening](https://archiveofourown.org/works/810100) by [Bead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bead/pseuds/Bead). 
  * Inspired by [And Spirit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/821800) by [Bead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bead/pseuds/Bead). 



> I became woefully stuck on "And Spirit," the longer-than-the-original-fic epilogue/next section of "Pearl of the Evening," after writing ahead a bit, through some of the Unpleasantness. Then I went back and tried to write the next bit, after "Ghivashel," trying to reach a plot point, and Billa and Thorin persisted in making out and I was having trouble wrestling to get them to stop and move the narrative forward. Maybe if they'd _talked_ more before jumping into bed, I wouldn't be having these problems.
> 
> So, this little rewrite was my attempt at a slow build for them, giving Thorin a bit of a handicap by having him limp around after being half-chewed by a warg. And I occupied myself with happily correcting a few bits that were troubling me, felt like I was getting a better handle on my characters (more flirting! Sassier Billa!) and then Gimpy McGrumpypants raised his romantic little head and took over I started liking this story more than the storyline I was working on over in the "real" fic and dreaded going back to the mess of my own making. 
> 
> So here we are. The old "And Spirit" is still up, and I will be slowly weaving that into the current plot line - I'm not about to give up 30,000+ words of work - giving Thorin and Billa a bit more history and backstory before they wed, and before they enter the Unpleasantness which starts at Mirkwood. Because I've seen what's coming for them, darlings, and they'll need all the surety in one another that they can get. 
> 
> There will be bits that are familiar, and then still larger bits, and later, whole "old" chapters, with some tweaking, will be dropped in. I thank you in advance for your patience. I'm trying to build us as strong a story as possible. 
> 
> Plus, in this version, there are sheep. 
> 
> Enjoy. 
> 
>  

~~~~

It was a beautiful, soft morning, just warm enough to be comfortable after breakfast and a luxurious bath, so Billa gathered her courage and asked a sheep if there was somewhere nice she could sit and do a spot of mending while looking at the garden, one where the (giant, horrifying) bees might not be too active. 

She was led - thankfully the sheep was on all four feet this time, it worried Billa so they’d tip over - to cozy patch of lawn with a long bench big enough for Beorn, but low enough to the ground for a hobbit, surrounded lovely riot of summer flowers and a tree for shade when the sun got too high. She thanked the sheep most sincerely, catching herself from giving it a pat on the head. The sheep nudged her nose under Billa’s hand anyway, and Billa obliged, laughing, with a hearty ear scratch that satisfied them both. 

Billa arranged her drying hair over her shoulders and basked for a few long moments, surrounded by such lovely sights and smells. It was a beautiful spot, and she could quite understand why Beorn had placed a bench here; beautiful views everywhere, from the cozy, neat lines of his home to the beautiful flowers and beyond, and to the east, framed by his tangle of an orchard, the distant peak of the Lonely Mountain, which she really should be calling Erebor, to get into the habit. 

It was a blessing just to rest and look and soak up the familiar feel and smell of growing things, the thankfully distant hum of the bees, the scents of the flowers, and firm, well-tended earth under her feet. So shockingly and comfortingly different from the last few days of wargs and goblins and…Billa closed her eyes and shook her head, scattering the pictures of fire and blood from her sight, and sighed, determined to hold on to this small patch of green and peace and sunshine. 

“Such a fierce expression for such a lovely spot,” a deep voice rumbled. “Have the flowers caused offence, Miss Baggins?” Billa was proud she did not startle. 

“Not at all.” She opened her eyes to find Thorin Oakenshield standing at the edge of her clearing, pipe in hand, swaying slightly, knuckles tight around the bowl of his pipe, most likely in pain. He had limped a bit, this morning, and had nearly torn Fili’s ears right off for mentioning it. 

“Do come sit, please. There is plenty of room.” 

“If I’m not disturbing you,” he said gruffly. 

“I’d be glad of the company.” 

“I am not sure how entertaining I will be,” he replied bluntly, as he walked, still limping slightly, to the bench. 

“Did I ask for entertainment?” Billa raised her brows at him and smiled. He gave her a pleasant grimace as he sat carefully.

“Must our every conversation be contentious?” 

“That does stretch the bounds of entertaining conversation, doesn’t it?” 

“Just so,” Thorin agreed, breathing carefully as he arranged himself. Billa busied herself with her mending, determined not to call attention to his difficulties. Soon, he had his pipe lit and let out a relieved sigh. Billa glanced over to find him giving her a tiny, rueful smile. 

“Thank you for not fussing,” he said quietly. “I’ve had my fill this morning.” 

Billa flushed at his kind, intimate tone, the praise, and kicked herself a bit for being so responsive to such a small thing. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she replied, her tone not as steady as she’d like. 

Thorin reached out a careful hand and tapped the edge of her torn shirt. “You put your knot on the wrong side of the mending, there, while I was settling.” 

“Oh, I…” Billa took out her scissors to snip the knot, blushing furiously and annoyed with herself. 

“I am disturbing you,” Thorin said slowly and shifted his legs as if to rise. 

“Thorin Oakenshield, it took you long enough to get comfortable. You stay right there!” Billa snapped, and they looked at one another in surprise. 

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” Billa said, “I…” Thorin looked at her, wary, and leaned forward again as if to rise, and Billa put out a hand and touched his shoulder lightly. “I don’t want you to go,” she added softly. “It’s so lovely here, and I would like the company. Besides, you need the rest. I’m sorry. I got a little flustered.” 

Thorin gave her a searching look, then nodded and attended to his pipe. “Thank you,” he said around the stem. “I apologize about the…?”

“Oh, hush. I was just flustered to get caught out. And I’m rather vain about my needlework.” 

“You going to hushing and snapping at me from now on?” He asked mildly. 

“As long as I can get away with it.” 

Thorin snorted, amused. “Do I get the same privileges?” 

“No, I quite think it’s my turn, don’t you?” She said, pert, and could _feel_ him sober. Before she could say anything else, Thorin reached out, took her hand, and kissed her knuckles. 

“Quite. Thorin Oakenshield, at your service, Miss Baggins.” 

Dumbstruck, Billa stared into Thorin’s eyes, which were smiling but serious, and gathered herself to reply faintly, “Billa Baggins, at yours.” 

“No,” he said, his voice warm, and squeezed her hand. “Entirely at yours. For every slight I gave before, I would do you a kindness.” 

“That’s really not necessary,” Billa said, beginning to feel a little lightheaded at the attention and warmth in his gaze and voice. 

“Miss Baggins,” he said quietly, but with a bit of tartness. “Are you so opposed to kindness from me? Or must contention be our only way?” 

“It does not have to be the only way.” 

“Thank you!” he said, and released her hand to throw his in the air to make his point. He winced. Billa smothered a laugh and a groan and reached out as if to help. Thorin waved her off. 

“I would like to make a requirement that you do not further injure yourself when we are being…not contentious.” Billa said, careful. “Actually, I’d like that for when we are being contentious, as well.” 

“Noted,” he said shortly, pretending his ribs didn’t hurt as he smoked his pipe. 

Billa hid a small smile as she attended to her mending, wondering when she had begun to find Thorin Oakenshield’s grouchiness just a little adorable, and then smiled further, imagining how grumpy it would make him to be called “adorable.” 

After a few long, peaceful moments, Thorin observed, “This garden reminds me a bit of your home.” He cleared his throat. “Though, of course, your garden was better tended.” 

Billa looked at him, surprised. “You arrived at night. How could you…” 

“I departed in the morning, if you recall.” 

“Well, that’s true. I do suppose not having thumbs makes it difficult for the animals to weed,” Billa replied. “But, yes. I do have some of the same flowers. Actually, I’m a bit surprised at the variety.” 

“How so?” 

“Well, I would think that out host would only have flowers that served well for honey production, but it looks as if he just has this particular plot for the pleasure of the blooms.” 

“How would you know that?” 

“About the honey, or about this small garden?” 

“Both.” 

Billa gave him a look. “Surely you cannot be interested in gardening.” 

“I am interested in a wide variety of subjects, Miss Baggins.” 

“Really?” Billa teased. “I suppose a monarch must know many things, but I didn’t think honey production would be key for the King Under The Mountain.” 

Thorin caught her gaze again, and there was something warm and careful there that caught Billa’s breath. “If I said I was interested because it was important to you, would that be reason enough?”

“I would say that is a very kind reason,” Billa found herself whispering, something giddy and fluttering lodged beneath her heart. 

“Would you be so kind, then, to tell me of honey production and flowers?” Thorin asked, his voice low and fond. 

Billa swallowed hard. “Yes, your majesty.”

He frowned, a little sad. “I would prefer not to be ‘your majesty’ with you. May we not be…of course if you prefer…” 

“May we not be Thorin and Billa, you mean?” She could not quite hide the surprise in her voice. 

“Yes,” he said gruffly. “If you are agreeable to the idea.” He drew away slightly and fidgeted with is pipe, knocking out the dottle and putting it aside, clearly trying to hide that this meant something to him, and that giddy thing grew in her heart, swelling with affection. 

“But would you recognize me, if I was agreeable?” Billa asked gently, smiling. “For that matter would I recognize you, if you were?” 

He turned his head slightly and met her eyes with a tender, shy gaze. “I mean to try, if you allow it.” 

“I think I would like that, Thorin,” she replied, her breath catching again. “I would like to try, too. Only…” 

“Only?” 

“I thought you couldn’t stand me, until very, very recently,” she pointed out. 

Thorin grimaced, pained, took her hand, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles again. “More I could not stand what I was taking you from - your cozy, well-loved home - knowing you were unsuited for the trip, and angry for the need to haul you through the wild,” he said, addressing the back of her hand, clearly regretful. “I was as much angry at myself and Gandalf as I was you, for being so foolish as to come. And then you began to prove me wrong. I thought you soft and unsuited, but you are as rare as a pearl; so clever, far braver and far more generous and forgiving than I ever imagined, or deserve.” 

“You believe you do not deserve generosity or forgiveness?” 

“From one I was so cruel to? It is hard to fathom, but you have been both, and have offered what so many of my own people have not; help to reclaim our home. I cannot tell you how much that meant to me. And on the heels of that, you saved my life. I cannot offer you enough thanks.” He kissed her hand again. 

“And so you offer kindness?” Billa asked, quiet and soft, as she turned her hand to clasp his gently. 

“Thanks, kindness, friendship,” Thorin replied humbly, gazing at her hand in his. “I do not have, at the moment, much to offer, but I may offer those.” 

“That is a great deal, to me, Thorin. And I am glad of it.” 

He gave her a swift, shy smile and carefully squeezed her hand. “Then tell me, Billa, of flowers and honey production. I am desperate to know. Why did you say this particular plot was just for the pleasure of the blooms?” 

“Well, if you’re _desperate_.” 

“Knowledge is never wasted,” he said solemnly. “One never knows when the slightest detail might be important. So, yes, I am desperate for more knowledge.” 

“You are being silly.” 

“I am frequently hilarious,” he said, dry as dust, shifting himself slightly closer to Billa, so that their hands did not dangle between them uncomfortably. “But not about things that are important. And this is, to you.” 

“You are being very kind.” 

He glanced at her, a sweet, frank gaze that made Billa flush, then threaded their fingers together. “I said I would try.” 

“Well, then,” Billa replied, her voice a little unsteady. “I would have thought that Beorn would only have flowers that aided in honey production, apple blossoms, elderberry, both of which produce fruit of their own, of course, that are useful.” 

“Of course,” Thorin murmured, and Billa blushed again at the fond note in his voice. 

“Or bee balm or salvia or just acres of clover really, that make honey particularly good,” she continued. “But this little garden is just full of flowers for pleasure, it seems. Actually, it’s a bit flirty. I wonder if there are female skin changers that Beorn courts or he just likes the sentiments.” 

“Flirty?” 

Billa kicked herself mentally, feeling like a dunderhead for putting that thought in his mind. Flustered by his attention, she was being Tookish and a bit reckless. “Or he just might like the flowers.” 

_“Flirty?”_

Billa cleared her throat and barreled on. “I suppose dwarrow do not use the language of flowers. Different flowers have different meanings? And are a message when you give them to someone?” 

“Ah. I see. We do something similar with gemstones.” 

“Oh, that sounds lovely….” She said leadingly. Thorin slanted his eyes toward her and gave her a small smile. 

“I will tell you, once I learn about honey and flowers.” 

“Because you are so desperate to learn.” 

He raised his eyebrows and stroked Billa’s hand with his thumb. “Yes,” he said softly, his eyes intent on hers. They were very blue, and so warm. His smile made the lines beside his eyes crinkle, and it was very attractive, his face somehow made even more handsome by the shallow cut across his nose, and both crinkles and cut highlighted his eyes, which, again, were terribly warm, rather close, and watching her while she stared. Billa looked down, blushing, unsteady. 

“Billa.” Thorin ducked his head to catch her gaze. “Have I made you nervous?” 

“A little.” 

He stoked her hand again, feather light. “That is not my intention.” he murmured. 

“You intend friendship.” She was fishing, yes she was, but there was no help for it now. 

“I intend friendship, and more than friendship, if you will allow it, Billa. I intend to court you.” Thorin paused, looking at her carefully. “Am I speaking too soon? Or is it speaking of courting you at all? As I said, I have little to offer you…” 

“Oh hush, you yourself are quite enough,” she whispered fiercely, lifted their joined hands, and kissed his. She could hear his breath catch, and kissed his hand again. 

“Kindly said.” He murmured, low and soft. “Then it is not too soon?” 

“No,” she breathed, resting her lips against his hand. “I am less confused by your warmth, now.” 

“Dwarrow give their hearts but once, dear, rare pearl.” 

A quiver of pure joy ran through her, deep inside, leaving her breathless and shaken. She nodded against their hands. “As do hobbits.” 

“Will you not look at me?” he whispered. “I need to see that this is pleasing to you.” 

Kissing his hand one last time, Billa looked up at him. “ _Very_ pleasing to me, Thorin. Very, it’s…” 

Thorin frowned, concerned. “You are shaking.” 

“Well, I…it’s a lot to…” 

“It was too soon; I have frightened you.” He started to pull away, and Billa clutched at his hand. 

“Well, of course it’s terrifying, but no, Thorin.” 

He disentangled their hands and brushed her cheek gently. “Please. Do not do this because…” 

“Oh, _hush_ ,” Billa hissed, exasperated, leaned up and pressed her lips quickly to his. “I do this because you sang in my parlor and I heard such a great heart, so full of love for his people and wanting his home so that he’d go with _thirteen_ to face a dragon to get it back. I could not help but follow, despite the threat of a furnace with wings and being called a _grocer._ And I still followed you, even when you were a perfect horse’s arse, pardon my language, because you deserve to get your home back! I want you to be happy. I do very much like disproving your poor opinion of me, but chiefly, I want to see you happy. I just never thought you’d notic-“ 

Thorin caught her mouth in a soft but ardent kiss, cupping her cheek gently, and stole several more kisses, so achingly sweet that the tender, giddy place in her heart grew and fairly glowed with warmth. Her temper and nerves dissolved into a sigh, and he made a small, approving noise in the back of his throat and pressed a bit deeper, still chaste, but nuzzling in with an appreciative growl that sent a thrill right through her. He broke away with a last gentle kiss, and leaned his forehead against hers. 

“I was half-chewed by a warg and you were standing in front of the bane of my family, killing orcs and protecting me. I noticed.”

“In retrospect, that was a bit obvious. Quite forward." 

He snorted, half-pained, half-amused. “Why did you do it?” 

“I…It couldn’t end that way. You couldn’t end that way.” Billa said firmly. “As grumpy and contentious as you are, the world is far better with you in it. I did not want to imagine it with your voice and your great heart silent.” She swallowed hard, wincing at how loud it was in this quiet space between them, and when she spoke, her voice was thick with emotion. “I had to follow. I could not watch you fall. I would not.” 

“Billa. Billa,” Thorin whispered, emotion catching him as well. “I am the most fortunate of dwarrow, to have such a heart at my side.” He kissed her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, and then, very softly, her mouth. “When we met, I was also angry because I was drawn to you, and thought it a poor match, no matter what my heart demanded. Again, I have never been so wrong.” 

He looked into her eyes for forgiveness and she gave him a searching, measuring look, then understanding dawned.

“You were afraid,” Billa breathed. “Of me?” 

“And afraid for you, because of our quest. I never thought to love,” he confessed. “Never felt the longing dwarrow speak of until I entered the Shire. I lost my way to your home twice trying to get away from the shock of it, the oddness of it, and then there you were. A _grocer._ ” She laughed, startled, and he lifted her chin to kiss that laughing mouth. Billa trembled, melting into his embrace, and Thorin groaned softly, catching fire at those signs of desire from her. Billa stiffened. 

“Shh,” he whispered against her mouth. “It is not pain.”

“Longing?” she whispered back, hand curling in the fabric of his tunic.

“Mmmm,” he agreed, and stole a small, soft kiss. She shivered again. 

“Longing?” he asked, pulling back slightly. She shivered harder and made a small sound. Thorin pulled back further, concerned. “Fear?” 

“No,” Billa said, low and fierce, and surged gently forward to take his mouth, her lips full and warm and her tongue a soft, shy query against his lower lip. Thorin groaned again, changing the slant of his mouth against hers, answering her call, and drew her deeper into his embrace, urging her to take what she wished of him. 

She filled his arms sweetly, so soft and curvy and strong, thankfully more solid than her slight frame suggested; he had half-expected her bones to be a light as a bird’s. She was a pleasant weight against him, and though his bruises and cuts would protest in a moment, he would not for the world shorten this delight. 

Billa kissed him, deep with conviction, until they were both shaking with it, Thorin from joy, desire, the stiffness of holding his abused muscles in check, and deeply unraveling restraint, Billa from what Thorin dared not think, lest his restraint well and truly snap. 

She shifted slightly, her hand still fisted in his tunic, and Thorin winced, groaning this time in frustration and discomfort as the fabric pulled firmly against his more injured side. She released him and moved away, biting her lip in apology and embarrassment. Thorin stopped her with a hand on her cheek, soothing his tongue over the bitten, gorgeously kiss-swollen place to kiss her again, and pushing the too-far stretch in his side away for the savor of her mouth. 

“It is my turn to hush you,” he murmured, smiling. “Before you apologize. I would take ten times the aches for kisses like that.” 

“Flattery,” she muttered, a scant few inches from his mouth, but returned his smile. 

“Truth,” he assured her, and took her mouth in turn, sweeping in to offer tender proof, kissing her until her breath came quick in her throat, until that quickened breath caused the lift of her breasts against his chest to be so much temptation, his hands burned with the need to touch, until her sighs made him long to draw her astride his lap and revel in the full press of her body against his. It was too soon, and he was too injured, and this was far, far too new. 

“So much fire between us,” he murmured against her mouth. 

“Yes,” she whispered, wonder and surprise in her voice, her breath hitching. “It is…it is…” 

“Yes,” he agreed, and kissed her anew, gentling his touch until they were both calmer, kisses softening into the brush of her nose against his, a nuzzling kiss from him at the edge of her jaw, and fond, chaste kisses pressed from mouth to smiling mouth. 

Drawing away, Thorin carefully tucked Billa against his side, both of them ignoring any of his minor winces of pain. 

“Come,” he said, kissing her temple, joy running under his words, and eased his legs out into a stretch, crossing them at the ankle, and set his weight against the back of the bench. “Tell me which flowers I may use to flirt with you. I am feeling extravagant.” 

Billa snuggled into his arm carefully, clearly seeking not to press into his side and hurt him. “If you’re feeling extravagant, shouldn’t you be using gems?” 

Thorin curled her closer into anyway, and took his hand from her waist to stroke her hair. “Be careful, I will bedeck you with so many precious gems and metals you will hardly be able to walk.” 

“Because that’s what every female wants, to be frozen in place with gifts. And clank. And rattle.” 

“But you would look very beautiful.” He paused a scant second. “Not that you aren’t already beautiful.” 

“Mm-hmm. Well saved.” 

“Truly,” Thorin replied, voice husky, tucking his cheek against her hair. “I find you very beautiful.” 

“If beardless,” Billa snorted. “I have heard Gloin’s odes to perfect dwarrow beauty, and seen the picture of his wife. I must look like a beardless child to you.” 

He leaned carefully to look at her, and brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “You are fresh and lovely and smooth. Very exotic and _clearly_ no child,” he murmured in a voice that made Billa’s eyes want to roll back in her head. 

“I’ve _never_ been called exotic before,” she said, lightheaded, and put her hand on his thigh for balance. Thorin made noise that Billa could only think of as a low purr as he pressed his thigh against hers and curled her close again to bury his nose in her hair. 

“Exotic and clearly no child, with such lush curves,” he growled, stroking down her side, and Billa pressed against him, a soft sound escaping her lips. He sat there, breathing her in for a moment, until the urge to turn her in his arms and devour her from the mouth down passed. 

“Exotic and lovely and lush,” he said, low, and pressed a lingering kiss against her head. “And your hair is beautiful. I’ve not seen it waving over your shoulders like this, unbound, for so long. It suits you.”

“Just average hobbit ditchwater blonde curls.” 

“Oh, no, no it’s not,” he said, looking behind her shoulder to gather up a handful and let it sift through his fingers. “I have sat watching it in sunshine and firelight and debated a thousand times what color it is, but it is not ditchwater. It is bronze and honey and gold and topaz and smoky quartz, and sometimes a bit blonde. But not ditchwater.”

Billa ducked her head, blushing and pleased. “Flattery.” 

“Truth,” he assured her, resuming stroking her curls. “Here, there is more, that you might believe; blonde and near white-blond, and flax, some strands, bleached by the sun, in the curls right around your face that escape the braid, and low glints of copper in the right light. You have pins of red horn, which are all wrong, and for the life of me, I can’t decide whether silver or gold would suit it better. On your skin, silver or platinum, or mithril, if I could get it, but in your hair…it depends on the day, the light and what you're wearing. You changed it, that first week, after you got the parting burnt by the sun.” He stroked his finger from brow to the back of her head. “Then you combed the top straight back, wincing, but otherwise kept it the same. Now,” he said, in that voice that would make a standing hobbit swoon and collapse at his feet. “Is that flattery or truth?”

“That is astonishing,” Billa said, swaying into his side. “That you observed me so. And that I _missed_ it.” She turned her face to his chest, warm with slow delight, and pressed a gentle kiss against his tunic. A pleased murmur, and he held her close, cupping the back of her head tenderly. 

“I stared as often as I could, and truthfully, I spent some time, and after my watches, puzzling over you, when it was less likely I would be caught,” he whispered to her, and petted her hair for a long moment. 

“Is there a reason you wear it up? You do braid it in a long tail at night, but normally…the coils and braids are very comely, but,” he stroked her head. “It so beautiful. It seems a shame to wear it so tightly bound.” 

“I wear it up certainly for convenience while we’re traveling. And.” Billa sat up a bit and picked at her mending, long forgotten. “Mostly maidens wear their hair down, and then put it up when they wed, for the most part, though some don’t. I put mine up years ago, mostly to stop tongues wagging.” 

“Help me understand.” 

“Because I was a maiden unmarried, living alone, and enjoying it, which is very odd in the Shire.” Billa’s voice was eloquent with scorn. “Very odd. So, I made myself as matronly as possible to stop the gossips from calling me shameless for being so odd and tempting, like my living alone was excuse for all sorts of imaginings that most _certainly_ were imaginary. Putting your hair up when you’re unmarried means you’ve given up and decided to be a spinster. I wasn’t planning on marrying, never met anyone I gave a fig for, but I liked wearing it down. I nearly cut it all off to spite everyone, but couldn’t do it.” 

“I am glad for the last, but sorry for the rest. Idiots. None of their business. Wear it how you like.” Thorin stroked her hair slowly. “Of course, down is some pleasure for me,” he said, the smile clear in his voice. 

“Well, I may still put it up while we’re traveling or if it’s hot,” Billa replied, voice soft now, with affection. “I’m glad you like it.” She sighed under his slow caresses. “Are you sure it’s not hurting your ribs, moving like that?” 

“Don’t fuss,” he whispered. “Shh.” 

“But if we’re friends, not to mention courting, I think I’m allowed to,” she whispered back. “You shh.” 

“Billa,” he grumbled, hand slowing, but not stopping. 

“Thorin.” 

He sighed and tugged her close again. “Billa, you are in my arms, have agreed I may court you, and let me know I am in your heart. And we have kissed, such gorgeous kisses. _Nothing_ hurts.” 

She clung to him a moment, then patted him carefully. “All right,” she said mildly, her voice wavering a little with concern. “But are you pulling on any stitches?” 

“They’re on the other side.” 

“Then be as romantic as you like, my dear.” She stroked toward his knee shyly. “And that was a lovely thing to say.” 

“Mmmmm,” he purred, mouth in her hair. He kissed down to her temple, then nuzzled a bit of hair aside to reach her cheek. Billa tipped her face up and Thorin’s other hand slid into place, cupping her jaw tenderly, and bringing her lips to his. He kissed her once, then pulled back slightly to look into her face. 

“When my people court, they exchange courting beads that they braid in one another’s hair. Normally we make them, but I don’t have the resources here. I do have my parent’s beads, that my father gave me when my mother passed, which was not long before the dragon came. I was carrying them with me, that day, remembering her.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Would you do me the honor of wearing my mother’s beads?” 

“I would be so honored by such a gift,” she replied, tears brightening her eyes. "So, this is why there’s been such talk of my hair style.” 

“In part,” he admitted, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “And would you do me the honor, Billa, of braiding my father’s courting bead into my hair?” 

“Thorin,” she breathed, a deep smile lighting her eyes, and curling at the corners of her mouth. “Of course.” 

“Good,” he replied in a voice so low and deep, Billa could feel the rumble of it in his chest. He leaned in to kiss her once more. “Good.” 

“Now?” she asked, as he leaned back and just looked at her, smiling, hand still stroking her hair. 

“Hmm? No, after lunch, I think. The beads are with my things.” 

“Ah,” she carefully leaned against his side and he gathered her in after shifting, very slowly, to another position. He pressed his face into her hair, and after a few long moments of delicious peace, she felt him stifle a yawn. 

“You are getting weary,” Billa pointed out softly. “And stiff. Should we get up and walk a bit?”

“Shhh. In a moment. It's lovely here.” 

“Yes.” 

He urged her to lean against him more, and she pulled her legs up on the bench and did just that. He pressed against her until they were keeping one another upright, and they basked in the sunshine, Billa with her face turned into his chest, Thorin with his hand, gentle, on her hair. 

Billa listened to the sounds of mid-morning; the distant laughter of the company, birdsong, the gentle calling between the sheep and friendly dogs, and closer, the steady beat of Thorin's heart under her cheek. She closed her eyes and let the the moment surround her, from the joyful sounds of the day, the rising scent of the flowers, the silk of his hair, to his pipe weed, medicinal herb and honey-scented warmth, to the grounding strength of his arm around her shoulder, and the tenderness of his hand in her hair. She pressed her face closer and sought under the smoke and herbs for Thorn's own scent of rich earth and elusive spice, and sighed, content. 

“Billa?” Thorin’s voice was drowsy, slightly fretful. 

“Mmm?” 

He sighed, stroking her hair, her back, moving gently, restlessly, reaching for her free hand, but clearly not able to hold it without pulling uncomfortably across his wounds. Billa put her hand on his chest, and he took it gratefully, pressed a lingering kiss to the palm, and settled again, curling their hands together over his heart, his other arm at her waist. He hitched her over very carefully so that sitting with their hands entwined would be comfortable for her. They both waited to see if it would be comfortable for Thorin as he settled. 

Soon, he let out a deep sigh and squeezed the hand over his heart. “There,” he said, satisfaction in his voice, and kissed her hair. 

“Happy?” Billa asked. “Comfortable?” 

“Deeply,” Thorin murmured, voice shading into sleep. “Billa, I…” he yawned again. “Apologize…” 

“Shh, rest.” 

A long pause. “Too heavy.” 

“Shhhh. I have you.” 

A longer pause. “You have me?” 

“I do. Not too heavy. Rest against me. You're safe. Rest.” 

He sighed again, and Billa felt him drowse, his hand relaxing around hers. His weight pressed against her, and she pressed carefully back, keeping them balanced. 

Thorin’s lax hand tightened a bit, suddenly. “Have, too, y'know,” he murmured with the slow, urgent earnestness of the half-asleep. “Keep you. Safe.” 

“I know, love. Rest.” 

“Love?” She could feel his whole body tightening around her, trying to wake. The question was hushed, drowsy, but she had every idea he would hear and remember. She pressed into the curve of his body, close as she could. 

“Yes, Thorin. Love.” 

He relaxed, slumping into her, his breath warm against her scalp. “Billa,” he whispered, voice shaken with feeling and sleep, his mouth pressed to her hair. He stayed there, close and warm and loving, until his tender, drowsy state drew her in entirely, and she drowsed, too, safe. His breathing changed slowly. He drifted into sleep. 

[Billa closed her eyes again, smiling, and drifted with him, no finer place to be.](http://ewebean.tumblr.com/post/70154350327/for-beads-fic-pearl-of-the-evening-rewrite)

~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And [here](http://ewebean.tumblr.com/post/67227113431/for-beads-fic-pearl-of-the-evening-rewrite) is some gorgeous first kissing by the wonderful Ewebean!
> 
> Do go love up on Ewe for the gorgeous work!


	2. Of Pearls and Sleep and Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's nearly lunch, they really should wake up and discuss things more, shouldn't they? Or smooch. Or both!

The call of a sheep close by brought Thorin to wakefulness. Instinctively, he tightened his arm around Billa and she murmured a soft protest, not of being held too tightly, it seemed, but not close enough, as she shifted nearer, her head drooping toward his chest awkwardly. Before he could react, her head dropped far and fast, half-waking her. Thorin caught her as she righted herself, gently cradling the back of her head, hoping to stop her before that familiar, uncomfortable jerk of the neck that made waking thus so unpleasant, and eased her onto his shoulder. She inhaled sharply and made a soft, contented sound of waking. Thorin's heart swelled with affection at such a simple, trusting thing, and he kissed the fingers entwined with his, each one, as he stroked her hair. 

Billa's head lolled on his shoulder, and she made another contented sound. "Hello," she said. 

"There you are," he replied, kissed her fingers one last time and released her hand, because he had to stroke her cheek, so flushed from their nap. 

"Mm, been waiting long?" 

"No," he replied, distracted by the silk of her skin as he explored the curve of her jaw with this tips of his fingers. "I woke just slightly before you." Billa turned her face into his hand, nudging at his fingers like a cat. Once situated where she wished to be, her face cradled by his palm, she gave the heel of his hand a distracted kiss and settled in as if to stay there awhile. Oh, he wanted to kiss her, but also couldn't tear his eyes away. Billa sighed again, and this time it sounded not like the sighs of drowsy contentment, but the sigh of someone who was trying to wake up. 

"We can tarry here a bit longer," Thorin murmured, his thumb tracing the lower curve of her lip, so soft. "It is not yet time for lunch." 

"You know this, how?" She asked without opening her eyes.

"Do you not recall the sound of dwarrow feasting?" 

Billa smiled and turned her face into his hand to kiss it. "Ah, yes," she said, laughter soft and clear in her voice. She rubbed her face against his palm once more as her eyes opened lazily. 

"Hello." 

"Hello again." 

She regarded him for a few moments, half-smiling, gaze tender. "You are thinking something." She looked at his eyes, trying to puzzle it out. "What is it, dear one?" 

"Ohhhhh," Thorin breathed. "You would find it very bold." She raised her eyebrows as her blush deepened. Thorin could not help but trace it across the top of her cheek, then let his fingers drift lower down the column of her neck to the hollow of her throat, admiring the beauty of her arched over his arm like this. He realized, as he stroked her skin and watched the quickening beat of her pulse, that while his fingers were chastely touching her throat, the heel of his hand rested on the upper slope of her breast. Swallowing hard, he brushed back up to the safer temptations of her cheek and tender gaze. 

"What are you thinking?" She asked again, voice hushed and breathy. 

"I am thinking of you." 

She gave him a very mild glare. Even so, it made him smile, because while she glared, her breathing came quick in her throat. 

"I am thinking of the future," Thorin admitted, unable to keep his voice from dropping into a low rumble. 

"And that is very bold?" 

"When you wake here in my arms, I feel very bold indeed." 

She shivered slightly, and her eyes were large and luminous. Thorin curled her close and kissed her forehead, then pulled back slightly to look into her eyes. 

"You are so warm, tucked into my side, your gaze is soft with sleep, your hair a tumbled, silken fall, and your skin flushed. So beautiful. I cannot help but think that..." He leaned forward and pressed a chaste but ardent kiss to her lips. Her eyes shone even more when he drew away. 

"Thorin," she breathed, and curled a hand in the front of his tunic. 

"What joy it would be to wake each day to such a sight, and that some day that privilege may be mine."

"Thorin." She took a deep, shuddering breath and her eyes fluttered closed. Her hand kept a tight grip on his tunic as she tried to master her breathing. Thorin slid his free hand across her stomach to her waist, desperate to embrace, to caress some part of her and stay within the bounds of honorable courtship. It was far more difficult than he imagined with her warm and pliant in his arms, clearly in the grip of deep feeling, so difficult to wait for her signs, for her to call to him. 

When her eyes opened, her gaze was staggering in its' intensity. "I want to throw my arms around you and hold you close," she said, her voice hoarse with longing. "But I'll hurt you." 

He gathered a handful of hair to let it sift through his fingers in lieu of crushing her against him and throwing away all restraint. "Let me be concerned with that, my rare pearl." He regarded her carefully, hoping not to overstep hobbit propriety. "May I...if you would sit on my lap, I could have both arms around you with ease. And I swear to you I will not...." 

"Hush," she snapped in a whisper, her eyes blazing. "You are hurting yourself right now, holding me. _I_ swear, my love, if you do not have a care -" 

Her words were like a spear of deep joy and a balm all at once to his heart. "You speak of love," he said voice halting, and touched her cheek gently. "You said such before, as we were falling asleep." 

Billa gave him a look of affectionate exasperation, gently pushed his more wounded left arm away from her, turned gracefully on the stone bench and with a shyly defiant look, put her legs in Thorin's lap, inched in as far as she could, braced herself on the back of the bench and raised her eyebrows in challenge. He gratefully scooped her up, one-armed, to guide her the rest of the way, and then he had her, warm and soft and so close. She half-turned and put her arms around his neck and held him tentatively, and then decided that thrusting her hands into his hair to communicate how tightly she wished to hold him by massaging his scalp was best. He gave her a soft moan of approval.

"Of course I speak of love, you majestic idiot," she said in his ear. "I would not court you if you were not already in my heart. I would not toy with you like that. And with you in my heart, then yes, 'my love,' rises to my lips. I never thought to love either, and then there you were, majestic and beautiful and _so annoying_." 

"If that is the way of love, oh my pearl, then I have loved you since we met." It came out far more seriously than he intended, and he caressed the length of her back in apology. 

She leaned back and looked at him. "You keep calling me a pearl," she said, very shy. 

Thorin rubbed her nose with his. "Dwarrow do not often go to the sea, and so pearls are very rare and precious to us. And it seems a very, very apt way to describe you." 

"Oh?"

He couldn't help but grin again, and kissed her nose. "How are pearls are made?" He teased. "It seemed _very_ apt to describe the introduction of you into my life. 

"They're made by the introduction of sand or some irritation to...." It took her a heartbeat to get it. "Thorin Oakenshield!" She gasped, eyes flashing. 

"Oh, but it's true," he said, smiling in half-apology, stroking her hair. "The more adversity piled upon you, the less irritating, the more beautiful and precious you have become." 

She looked at him, blushing, and shook her head in wonder. "That is the most romantic backhanded compliment I have ever, ever heard." 

"Still the truth. Would it help to know I think you shine like a pearl in the sunrise, in the firelight, and now with the flush of sleep on your cheek?" 

"It would help," she said, voice shaking and low. "For you to kiss me. My heart is too full." 

"Then I will help," he whispered, and bent his head to hers.

Thorin realized quickly that he'd underestimated how very tempting it would be to have her so close. Her arms wound around his neck, her hands in his hair, she was half-turned the better to kiss him, and her breasts brushed soft and warm against his chest. Her legs were literally close at hand and a perfect place to explore, to trace the outline of her knee through her skirt, to slide his hand up the outside of her thigh and mold his hand around her hip. He fought to keep his hands at her waist, his thoughts swirling with desire as she kissed him and then...she made a soft sound, a tiny moan of pleasure, and his thoughts snapped from what he wanted to what he _had_ , which was Billa, taking his mouth, and offering hers in return. 

Her kisses were sweet and savory in turns, tender little bites and flickers of her tongue, warm sighs of appreciation as he changed the slant of his lips slightly, fitting them together with a nearly audible click. He tried one of her little biting kisses, pulling her plump lower lip slowly through his teeth and the moan she made, _Mahal._

Billa melted against him, trembling, and Thorin clutched her closer, heedless of the creak in his ribs, the sting of pain helping his restraint, which was hanging by a tattered thread, as he poured all his desire for her into his kisses, his delight in her, her wit and fierceness, and she cried out against his mouth, shivering sharp, her body calling to him so clearly, and _oh_... 

And then she yelped, a very startled yelp, and let go of him, clearly trying not to press her weight on his wounds, and Thorin startled himself, jerking his hands away from her waist and she nearly lost her balance on his lap so he caught her close, unthinking, and his ribs twinged painfully. Thorin screwed his eyes shut and worked to keep his breathing even, for a wide variety of reasons. 

"Oh, hello," Billa said with embarrassed cheer. "Was there something?" 

"Baaa!" said someone, and Thorin opened his eyes. Their interloper was a sheep. He buried his face in her shoulder. A _sheep_.

"It was the sheep that caused you to yelp?" 

Billa's hands fluttered around his shoulders. "Oh, yes, of course! My friend, um, nudged me a little to get my attention. I startled." 

Thorin began to shake with silent laugher. 

_"Baaaaaaa!"_

"Lunch is ready?" 

"Baa!" 

"Thank you so much, we'll be right along." A moment later, Billa made a small snort, and that was all it took for Thorin to dissolve in laughter.

"That is a most unusual chaperone you have, Miss Baggins." 

"Oh, hush. I think we're sort of becoming friends. You should have seen the look she gave you as she left." 

"Oh?" 

"I'd expect it was the 'hurt her and I'll....'"

"Eat your boots?" 

"I think that might be more of a goat threat." 

"I think I don't want to know what a sheep's revenge might be." He kissed her cheek. "Better to plan I never need fear it." 

"Is that so?" 

"Yes." He gathered her in for a slow kiss. 

"Lunch," she reminded him softly, as flushed and beautiful as she'd been waking in his arms. 

"I find it hard to let you go." 

"If I promise to stay within reach?" 

"Acceptable," he agreed with a nod, and helped her down from his lap. She gave him a shrewd look as she brushed her hands down her skirts. 

"Don't fuss," he asked, as he got up slowly. He took a turn around the little garden to warm up his stiff muscles and on impulse, began picking flowers. 

"What are you up to?" Billa asked. 

"I am learning by doing," he replied. "Don't watch, it should be a surprise." He looked over his shoulder at her, and her smile was wide and delighted. He looked at her impatiently and waved a hand, and grinning, she obligingly closed her eyes and settled herself on the bench with a very distracting wiggle. Encouraged, he chose more blossoms. When he felt he had enough, he frowned at the bouquet, then went over to the tree to pluck a length of vine to use as a sort of ribbon to hold the whole thing together. 

"Now," he said, knees brushing against her skirts. "What have I said?" 

He did not expect such a strong reaction. Billa gasped, her cheeks going bright red, and her hands shook. 

"I've insulted you," he growled, annoyed with himself. He shifted to throw the flowers into the trees. 

"No! Don't you dare throw those away, don't you dare!" 

Thorin looked at her, wary. She held her hand out for the blooms, and it still shook. 

"Billa...." 

"Wait." She put up a quelling finger and examined the bouquet. "First of all, this is very lovely," she said, obviously trying to put on the face of a craft master, but there was a tremble of emotion in her voice. "Good composition." She pointed to a particular small yellow flower. "This is the only one that doesn't quite fit, flower language wise, though it looks very fine with the other blooms. It reverses the entire message." 

"What does it mean?" 

"It's a pink, that is, a kind of tiny carnation, and yellow means rejection or disappointment." 

Thorin deftly picked out each of the offending flowers, ripped them to shreds, and tossed them over his shoulder. Billa's face asked very clearly if that was necessary, and Thorin inclined his head in a way that assured her it was, it very much was. 

"Now," he prompted gently. She flushed all over again, and he sat next to her, his arm on the back of the bench behind her. 

"Billa, they can be just flowers, can they not? I chose them because their colors called to me, and...well, they reminded me most of you." 

She half turned, gave him such a deep, clear glance of affection that it caught his breath. "Shall I tell you what called to you?" she asked, and her voice held much promise. 

"Please." 

Billa held the bouquet between them. "These here, the blue, are hydrangea, and they mean perseverance and gratitude for being understood. These white ones are queen's lace, and they mean delicate femininity." She cleared her throat slightly at that, embarrassed, as if she had been the one to choose the flower for herself, and Thorin put a gentle hand on her hair. "These purple asters mean trusting love, the sunflower adoration, and the roses and ivy...." Her voice faltered, and he moved to put his hand over hers, holding the flowers. 

"You need not say, Billa." 

She flashed him a smile of the sweetest kind. "Oh yes, I _will_ say, Thorin, for you were right, you are feeling rather bold." 

Thorin hoped to himself that he'd not given her any lewd flowers. He wouldn't put it past Beorn to have such in his garden. 

"The light pink roses mean passion, the yellow friendship, the dark pink gratitude, and the ivy....it's very interesting that you tie the whole thing together with ivy. Really, Thorin, for not knowing what you were doing...."

"What does the ivy mean, my pearl?" 

"Marriage and fidelity." 

They looked at one another for a long moment. Thorin could feel her hand still shake under his. 

"And if I had known what I was doing, how would you have read this code?" 

She swallowed hard and spoke softly. "You could be listing qualities you admire. Or, it could be read as a statement of intent." 

Thorin looked at the bouquet with new eyes and read the message there. "To me, you are delicately feminine, I am grateful for your friendship and adore you. I trust you above all others, desire you, and will not stop until you are my wife." He paused to take a deep breath, shaken. "That is very bold." 

"It is," she answered quietly. 

"I proposed." 

"You did." 

He looked at her from beneath his brow. "I stand by it." 

"Thorin..." 

He shook his head, forestalling her. "Every word of it is true. Mahal....or your Green Lady, his wife, must have guided my hand. All of this," he touched the bouquet gently. "All of it is in my heart." 

Billa sighed, struggling with her breath, and tears stood in her eyes. 

"No," Thorin whispered, assuring her. "No, sweet pearl. I don't expect an answer right now, we have just begun to court. But you have my question, and my heart. Tell me with flowers, tell me with words, but tell me in your own time." 

She nodded. "I will," and looked so as if she wanted a kiss, by the lift of her chin and the look in her eye. Thorin leaned in, and just as Billa's arm rose to wrap around his neck, a sheep called again from quite close by. And yet again when they did not respond. Thorin dropped his head against her shoulder and laughed helplessly. Billa snorted inelegantly, and Thorin thought he might hurt something, laughing so hard. 

"We'll be right there, dear!" Billa croaked. 

He forced himself to sober and to pull away from her. "May I escort you to lunch, Miss Baggins, before your herd of chaperones comes to eat my boots?" 

"I really do think it's only the one." 

"Even so." He carefully stood and extended his arm. She gathered her mending and realized both hands were full. He took the mending and tried offering his arm again. She looked up at him, face shining with joy. 

"Ready, my pearl?" She took his arm, and as they walked slowly to the house, she pressed against him a bit, a small hug. 

"What a lovely morning this has been," she murmured, and kissed his arm. 

Thorin reached over - damning the pull at his side - to put his hand over hers. "The finest of mornings."


	3. Of Lunch and Lore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Off to lunch, and to see the Company!

As they reached the wide porch area of Beorn's hall, Billa noticed Fili and Kili watching them approach, mouths hanging wide open in indentical expressions of shock. Fili's eyes darted from Billa's face, to Thorin's to the bouquet of flowers in her hand and her hand tucked in Thorin's arm. 

"Have you no manners?" Thorin growled, smiling too much for it to sting. "Gaping idiot is not your best look, either of you." 

"Uncle?" Kili said, voice high and excited. He bounced. "Billa?" 

"Close your mouths, dears," Billa murmured. "Have you seen the size of the bees around here?" 

Thorin snorted with amusement and squeezed her hand against his side as they sailed through the door. 

"I _knew_ it!" Fili crowed. "I _knew_ all those long evenings, watching over us, looking toward where she was sleeping while smoking your pipe and looking majestic was not just _strategic planning._ " The boys swept in behind them, bouncing like happy puppies. 

"It was a good cover, though, very good." Kili agreed, slapping his uncle on his bad shoulder. "Fili's been practicing looking majestic inspired by that." Billa could hear Thorin grit his teeth as he carefully mimed a smack at his nephew. 

"Be respectful," Thorin said firmly. "Billa has an army of sheep at her beck and call." 

"Are they armed?" Kili asked instantly. 

"They are feeding us, along with the dogs," Fili pointed out. "Best be careful." 

"I believe _the point_ is to behave respectfully. How can I convince Billa of my worthiness and my family's if the two of you act the fool?" 

"But we already act the fool!" Kili cried. 

At this point, Billa began to laugh helplessly, and leaned against Thorin's arm. "It's quite all right, dearest. I am well aware how the oddness of one's relatives is not something one can control." 

"You are too kind," Thorin murmured. His voice had that intimate, low tone as he handed her into the seat next to his at the head of the long table. Billa blushed and darted him a glance. 

"I should get a vase for your flowers, if they have one," he said, reaching for them and handing her the mending, which she tucked by her feet. 

"Thank you." 

As Thorin turned, Billa's friend the sheep was walking toward them with a pitcher in...hoof, and plunked it on the table in front of Thorin with as fearsome a glare as a sheep's face could muster. She bleated pointedly at the vase. 

"My thanks, friend," Thorin said formally. "I will take good care." 

"Baa," the sheep said, firmly, hovering next to him, its' little hooves flopping emphatically "Baa! Baa!" 

"Now dear," Billa said smoothly. "It's quite all right. Truly." The sheep cast one last dubious look at Thorin and plopped down to all fours to come over to Billa, who gave her a good ear scratching. "How about I come to the kitchen after lunch and we cut the stems on the flowers so they last longer and have a nice chat?" 

"Baa," the sheep said adoringly, and trotted off. 

There was a long silence as everyone watched the sheep trot off, its' sisters and the dogs streaming forward genially with plates of food. 

"I've been found wanting by a sheep," Thorin muttered. All along the table, random dwarrow snorted whatever drink they were having right up their noses, and most of the rest fell about laughing. Billa gave Thorin, who was scowling, a hint of a smile in the crinkled corners of his eyes, an appraising stare. 

"Well, I suppose you did say you were frequently hilarious," she said with gleaming cheer. "But I do think you're exaggerating about the sheep." 

"No, he's not," Dwalin growled, wiping his beard off as best he could. "Reminded me of my mum. I'm stifling the urge to go rinse out my beard and wash under my fingernails." 

Bill gave him a flat look. Thorin snorted and raised his eyebrows. They kept looking at him. 

Throwing up his hands, Dwalin rose and stalked off. "Why did I even mention it?" He turned and pointed at their end of the table, where he'd been sitting. "Best leave me something, you lads. Or your training session this afternoon will be very interesting. Very." 

"Don't worry, Captain Dwalin. I'll fill you a plate," Ori said shyly, which made the top of Dwalin's head and his ears go pink. 

'My thanks, Master Ori," he said gruffly, and his walk to the bathing room had a decided spring to it. Thorin bumped Billa's knee under the table and sent her a significant glance at his retreating friend. They shared a smile. 

Billa occupied herself with arranging the flowers in the pitcher, keeping to Thorin's original design, unwinding the ivy and trying to figure out how to break it so that it would fit into the pitcher. It was very tough. Fili handed her a knife, and she cut the vine and poked it through the arrangement to trail down the sides of the pitcher, to very pleasing effect. She pushed the completed arrangement toward the middle of their end of the table, and darted Thorin a soft smile. He gave her a small, crooked one in return. 

"I begin to see what you mean about good composition. That looks very fine. And it goes well with the glaze on the pottery." 

Billa threw a hand up as she accepted a platter of cooked grains from Fili. "I followed the lines of your design, just rearranged the ivy a bit." Thinking of the ivy, Billa blushed again, and beneath the table, Thorin's knee nudged against hers. She looked up at him, and he was blushing a bit as well. 

"Uncle Thorin made the arrangement?" Kill said, utterly gobsmacked.

"Yes, they were a courting gift." 

"Billa is teaching me the language of flowers and gardening," Thorin added with a certain pride. 

"Is that the craft you're teaching him?" Ori said a bit down the table, next to Dwalin's empty seat. He was busily helping his plate and Dwalin's and when he saw Billa notice, he gave her a small grin. 

"The craft?" 

"Courting couples teach one another their crafts," Thorin explained, helping her to a dish of greens. Billa looked at him, startled. "I noticed you liked it last night," he explained. Billa shook her head in wonder. 

"So your asking to learn about flowers was part of courting?" 

"I did say I wanted to know because it was important to you. I would have asked regardless." 

"I suppose I could teach you cooking, if you like. Conkers might be good, but not until you heal up a bit." He looked at her blankly. "It's a throwing game." 

"Cooking?" Thorin said dubiously. "In the kitchen. With the sheep." 

"They're _sheep_ , dearest." 

"One of them hates me. Regardless, I like the flower craft. It is more complex than I had thought at first." He darted her a shy look and she caught exactly what he meant. They both hastily attended to their meal. 

"Something just happened," Kili said slowly, his spoon hanging in mid-air. 

"Leave it, brother." 

"What? Leave what?" 

"What are you two bleating about now?" Dwaling growled as he sat down, and the end of their table broke out in giggles. Ori bravely touched Dwalin's forearm. 

"You made a sheep joke," he pointed out. 

Dwalin blinked, then barked out a laugh. "I did at that!" 

"Language of flowers," Kili said triumphantly, pointing at the flowers. " _Language_ of flowers! _Those_ say something!" He looked at his uncle with a bright and eager face. 

"It's private." 

"Oh, Uncle!" 

"Kili," Fili warned. 

"But what harm is it?" 

"It's _theirs._ " 

Thorin glanced at Billa, and found her beaming at him. He reached for her hand and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. There were several gasps around the table, which Billa ignored to give him a small, pleased shrug. 

"You don't mind?" 

Billa shook her head. "They will know eventually," she said softly. Thorin's eyes went wide. "Why were there gasps when you held my hand?" 

"Because dwarrow couples rarely show that much affection publicly, unless they are _quite_ serious," Fili said, looking at the two of them with wonder. 

"Well, of course it's serious, if you give your hearts but once," Billa replied, a bit confused. "Hobbits are the same way, and only break it off if something dreadful happens, or they find they simply can't live with one another. Like if one of them is too plagued by drink, or some such. It's very sad." 

"People may find their One," Dwalin said, his head bent over his plate. "But it's not a given that their One will want them back. Some devote themselves to their crafts." Beside him, Ori took on a very determined expression. 

Fili said in Billa's ear, "Uncle never shows that much affection publicly with anyone. Ever. He'll smile, _maybe_ , but..." 

"Oh." Billa blushed deeply at her plate and nudged her knee against Thorin's. She released his hand to take a sip of water, then very carefully laid it back on the table. 

Thorin took a deep breath. "The large blue ones are hydrangea, and they mean perseverance and gratitude for being understood." The table went completely silent as Thorin spoke. "These white ones are queen's lace, and they mean delicate femininity. He reached out his hand toward Billa and she took it, and held it tightly. "The purple are asters, and mean trusting love, the sunflower adoration, the pale pink roses mean passion, the dark pink mean gratitude and the yellow friendship." He paused. "And the ivy means marriage and fidelity." 

"So putting them together is a kind of code?" Ori asked. "It's like the gem code!" 

"It is. It may express qualities the giver admires in the other. Or," he added heavily. "It is a statement of intent." 

"But Billa's not married, so you can't exactly admire that," Kili said. "Though she is really loyal." There were murmurs of agreement about that, which warmed Billa's heart. 

Down the table, Dori put down his mug with a thump and put his hand over his heart. "Oh, my goodness. Oh, Durin's beautiful beard," he cooed. 

"What?" several people said. 

"He's gone and offered himself for marriage straight away, that's what," Balin said, voice rich with approval. "Never thought I'd see the day. Never thought _you'd_ be so traditional." 

The table erupted in cheers and knives banging on the table. The sheep and dogs ran in to see what was amiss and stood around in confusion at their merry guests. 

"Traditional?" Billa asked as Thorin was kissing her knuckles and then her palm, keeping his eyes on hers, his meal entirely forgotten. 

"I'm not sure I should be seeing this," Kili quavered, his hand over his eyes. "It's traumatizing. Though I am very happy for you both. Truly." 

Thorin stopped kissing Billa's palm, which was a good idea, because from the looks he was giving her, Billa was about the crawl right back into his lap and take the promise of that smiling mouth. She blinked her way to sanity. 

"Traditional?" She asked again, her voice a little shaky. 

"Our dwarrowdams are rare," Thorin said, releasing her to offer her some water. "Females are one in three born to us."

"If that," Óin said, a bit too loud as always. "I'd say maybe one in four." 

"So they are the ones to advance courting beyond the earliest stages," Dori said. 

"We're taught to put ourselves before our beloved's eyes, let him or her see us for who we are, and then let the decision be theirs." Thorin said. 

"You're taught this?" 

"We're all taught the basic rights and duties of marriage," Kili said, serious for once. 

"But our females are so rare, we do get a bit of extra wife lore, handed down, so that we may treat them as the treasures they are," Gloin added down the table. "But the basic belief about our Ones hold true." 

"Ones?" Billa asked. 

"We believe that when Mahal made the Seven Fathers, he also made spouses and divided their souls between them, so that they may find their true companions and find true joy," Bofur said, speaking up. 

"‘If you find your One, know they are the other half of your spirit, but wholly themselves," Fili said, obviously quoting. 

"Do not seek to trap them to keep them near, to force them to your will, but set yourself before their eyes and open your heart," Dwalin said, scowling at his plate. 

"So that he may see the whole of you, and his heart may open in return to seek yours," Ori added, voice wavering 

"Done in all honor and in earnest, she can become your beloved true companion in life," Balin added, his gaze far off and sad. He sighed. "Tell her the rest, my king." 

Thorin reached over to brush a tear off of Billa's cheek.   ""And you will be hers, joined at the heart, in body, in mind, and in spirit. This should always be your aim in marriage, and the greatest treasure you will ever find.”  

"You're taught this?" Billa said, her voice catching on a sob. "That's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard." She pressed her hand over her heart and tried to master her breathing, the other she used to reach for Thorin, and she kissed his knuckles. She looked around the table, tears sliding down her face. "So rich and thoughtful. Oh, you darlings, thank you, but um," her voice broke. "Please excuse me." 

She pushed away from the table quickly and headed for the porch. Thorin rose from his seat quickly enough for it to fall over. 

"Count to ten, then follow her," Gloin cautioned. "Give her a chance to steady." 

"Aye," Balin agreed. 

Thorin did, both hands balled into fists, then began to stride after her as best he could. 

"Uncle!" Kili called. Thorin turned with a growl. Kili tossed a napkin at him. "In case she needs a handkerchief!" Thorin gave him a small nod and headed after his beloved. 

He found her around the corner of the house, near their little garden, staring to the east through the orchard. He followed her line of sight and saw the mountain, and his own heart sped up in his chest painfully, wondering that she'd come _here_ , to look at his home, to gather her thoughts. 

" _Ghivashel,_ my apologies. We have made you cry," he said softly, and lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. He offered her Kili's napkin, and she took it with a watery laugh to wipe her eyes. 

"I am pierced by beauty and such sweetness at every turn," she said, her voice surprisingly strong for one whose breath was coming deep and ragged in her throat. "If you wish me to see your family, your people, worthy, my love, they have just done it." 

"I was surprised," Thorin admitted. "That they shared such with you. I thought it well done, and speaking of how much they care for you, as I do." Billa's tears began anew. Thorin couldn't help but draw her into his arms. 

"What is it, my pearl?" 

"Help me," she said, shaking, glowing with joy. "My heart is so full." 

"Then I will help," he assured her. She reached up, and drew his mouth to hers. 


	4. Of Trust and Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Important stuff is discussed like grown-ups. 
> 
> Short lil chapter, dearhearts. Mostly because I'm too impatient to post. :)

Thorin kissed her through a few hitching breaths, heart pinching that tears still fell from her eyes. He kissed her with all the gentle comfort he had, gentle but standing firm as a safe place for her to find rest. 

"Billa," he whispered, drawing away to kiss her trembling eyelids, then the damp tracks on her cheeks. He lifted a hand to brush the tears away. "Billa, my rare one."

"You believe I am your One?" 

"Of course. I felt the longing when I entered the Shire. And when I saw you, my heart knew it. Did I not say earlier?" 

"Yes," she said, not looking at him. "But I didn't quite understand what it meant. I still don't." 

"Hobbits don't feel the tug? When their One is near? How do you know you have found your love, then?" 

Billa shrugged. "We just have to just trust it, I suppose. That we make the right choice." 

Thorin kissed her forehead. "Then I am doubly fortunate that you trust in me." 

She dropped her eyes. "You _knew_ , and were afraid of me. And cruel." She stood in his arms, stiff and weary. A chill went down his spine. He thought she had understood earlier, but should have known she had not when she laughed instead of rightfully taking him to task. It took him several tries to find his voice, and as he fought to speak, he knelt before her, a humble supplicant.

"And I have never been so wrong, Billa. It was ill-done of me, and I beg your forgiveness. I was in turmoil and did not give you a chance." 

Her hands were restless, smoothing the fabric of his tunic over his shoulders, but her eyes remained downcast. "I do forgive you, I have forgiven you," she said, her voice strong. "I understand why you did what you did, but it was ill-done, as you say, my love." A bit of the cold chill in his bones ebbed away as she named him "love." 

"You have a temper. A sharp-tongued one. I ask you, going forward, not to speak to me like that again. Argue with me all you like, argue with me about things that I’ve done, or said that have hurt or angered you, but to make things personal like that, just attack who I am…it does nothing but wound and divide. It would make us both miserable. We must struggle through together, love, if we are to become the companions you wish. The companions we both wish to be. We are fortunate in our friends, here, but that may not always be the case with your people, I need to...." 

“Trust me not to treat you as I did before when my temper is short. We must struggle through together, as you say, in public and private.” He moved to take her hand. “You are right,” he agreed, bent his head and kissed her knuckles. “I cannot speak to you like a soldier who needs a sharp word to maintain order, insults to challenge and light a fire in his belly. And you are right, I made things personal with you. I know better. I was trained better. You have my word I will not do it again. I will prove myself worthy of you. I was, as you have named me, a majestic idiot." 

Billa laughed, tears still at the edge of her voice, and finally raised her eyes to his. "And I will call you on it," she said, smiling but strong. 

"And I will be grateful for it, even if I growl, that you care enough to smooth these rough places between us. To smooth these rough places within me," He kissed the back of her hand again. "Again, I am fortunate to find such a heart as yours, Billa Baggins. I was a fool." 

She said nothing, but turned her hand over to present him her palm. She raised her eyebrows and gave him a soft smile. He took her small hand in both of his, and stroked it with the flat of his palm. "I am forgiven, then?" This time he found it hard to meet her eyes. 

"You are forgiven, my love." 

He pressed a long, grateful kiss to her palm, feeling anew that his heart held so much for her, he felt as if the only way to communicate it was with these fleeting touches, trying press his love (it was love, and growing) through his skin, that she might know it, take it within her, hold it safe within her heart. He knew a great calamity had just passed him, one grown out of his angry and stubborn spirit, and a not-quite repressed sigh caused his mouth to tremble against her skin. 

"Thorin?" 

"What may I do to atone for the hurt I caused you, _ghivashel_?" 

"But I forgave you." 

"How can that be enough?" 

Billa searched his face. "I don't want you slavish, seeking to calm my heart with meaningless feats or duties. Withholding my joy in you to make you pay for what has passed. Ugh. Hardly the way to treat someone you look to share a life with. Deal with me in kindness and honesty, and speak with me as we have just discussed and I will be happy." 

"I want you happy as well." 

"Well," she rolled her eyes. "Yes," she drawled. "I believe I heard something very beautiful about beloved companions?" 

"I might have heard something about it, yes." 

"Well, then." 

"Well." He kissed her palm once more, then stood, drew her into his arms, and took a moment to be grateful. She tipped her face up for a kiss, and he gladly took it, savoring the softness of her mouth. 

"Shall we go finish our lunch?" Billa said. "I have a strange feeling they're all waiting in there, not wanting to disturb us. Or gossiping madly." 

"Or the sheep and dogs are keeping them hostage. I would lay bets on the sheep. The dogs are decent sorts." 

Billa laughed against his chest. "You are frequently hilarious." 

"I speak the truth, I do, Miss Baggins." He said, then sobering, leaned back to cup her cheek. "And I will continue to."

She rolled her eyes at him again. "Dearest, you are inches from being broody. I. Have. Forgiven. You." 

"As you say, my lady." 

"So forgive yourself," she added softly. 

"That may take some time," he ducked his head. "It is good you are patient with me." 

Sighing affectionately, Billa drew away to take him by the hand. "Come, let's eat and think of ways to scandalize Kili." 

Thorin laughed a bark of a laugh. "Is that mischief I see in your eyes, wife?" He froze, horrified with himself, as Billa's eyes flew wide. She nearly bent double with laughter, then opened her arms. He walked into them, as embarrassed as it was possible to be. 

"Oh, my love, _your face_." She pulled it down to kiss his cheeks and his mouth. "I have never seen such a face." 

"Billa, I...could you?" 

"Oh no, I'm not forgetting it. We were talking of the future, and it is so dear that your thoughts run ahead. It was a beautiful, lovely thing, and you are bold and forward beyond compare, my darling." She held his face in her hands, eyes dancing. "I would have you be none other than yourself. Because if nothing else, I will get to see you trip over your tongue like that again." 

"I do not seek to bend you to my will, but honor you with my most earnest regard and admit that I dream of you, thus?" 

"There," she said, and patted his cheeks in a friendly way. "Well saved." 

He pushed through her hands to press a kiss to her forehead. "You will lead me in a merry dance, my love," he said, still a bit mortified. 

"Oh, I plan on it," she grinned, then sobered, herself. "You don't think I mean to tease, do you? Leading you. I may not have the lore you do, but..."

"No, no, dance in that you are naturally merrier than I am, and dance in that we are learning, and hopefully finding, the possible rhythm of a life together. I said answer me in your own time, and meant it. We should have this." He paused. "I find I like it." 

Billa grinned at him again, this time a bit shyly. "As do I." That small gleam of mischief shone in her eyes again. "That was an awful lot of hope and possiblilities in that sentence." 

Thorin groaned, and pressed his forehead to hers. "Are you quite sure you can't forget my slip?" 

"Quite sure. Didn't I say I never thought to love? I never thought to hear someone call me that, even prematurely. Why would I want to forget?" She stepped back and held out her hand. Thorin took it, surprising them both by pulling into his arms to sketch out a few dance steps, then twirling her out and back until his ribs creaked painfully. She gave him another affectionately exasperated look, stood on her toes to kiss his cheek, and they went, hand in hand, back to the hall, hearts peaceful once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Thorin. Oh, Thorin, Thorin, Thorin. Awfully hasty for a dwarf, m'dear.


	5. Of Customs and Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some dwarrow and hobbit courting and wedding customs are discussed, because really, Thorin can't stop kissing Billa, and needs some clarification.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm making almost all these marriage traditions up, except for the three ways of dwarf marriage. Tolkien based dwarrow in part on ancient Jewish culture, and once I found out certain aspects of that, took it and ran with it. :) 
> 
> Also, I am doing considerable timeline fudging here. The books say Smaug came when Thorin was 24, which would be about six years old in human terms, yet, of course, he's no little boy when we see him in the movie. He's 95 when his father disappears, 195 when he comes to Bilbo's door, the oldest of the company. So, I'm going on the supposition that they meant Smaug came when Thorin was the _equivalent_ of "being 24," aka, about Kili's age, mid-70's. That still would make him about 120 when he gets to Bilbo, given the 60 years of wandering...let's just all agree that the math doesn't work and Thorin is gorgeous, has aged well, and agree never to look too hard at the age numbers again. It's an AU. ::handwaves:: 
> 
> Also, also, if you think of Thorin being 195 (out of a 250ish year lifespan) and Bilbo 51 (out of a 100ish lifespan) it's less sad. Yes? Yes. ::nods firmly::

Billa paused at the edge of the garden to take in what she was seeing. Thorin was prowling about (as much as his sore muscles would let him), piece of paper in hand, muttering to himself and making notes. He'd stop every so often to tilt a flower face up, and carefully bend to inhale its' aroma. She stepped a few more paces into the lovely spot and waited. Eventually, he gave her a sidelong glance. 

"Burglar. You come on silent feet," he rumbled, somehow making "burglar" sound like an endearment. Billa smiled. 

"How long have you been there?" 

"Since you were muttering to the dark pink roses." 

"Ah. I was writing down what you'd taught me." 

"Hmmm." She drifted nearer. "But you repeated the definitions I gave you nearly word for word. Not to mention the lovely wife lore. Clearly you have an excellent memory." 

"The wife lore is sacred to us, and learned orally. Since we lost so much knowledge, and so many of the wise, after the dragon and Azanulbizar, I, we chose to memorize as much history as we could, instead of consigning it to very flammable books. Easier to carry a library if it's in your head. Or, better yet, many heads. "

"We chose." She moved close enough to lay her hand on his arm. "You mean you chose." 

"Well, I. My father and grandfather..." 

Billa watched him steadily. "Yes, it was my idea," he admitted. "I was very young when we were driven from the mountain, about Kili's age, and keenly aware of how much more I needed to know, out in the wide world." 

"'Knowledge is never wasted,'" she murmured, echoing what he'd said to her in playful banter, and stroked the deep blue sleeve of his tunic, relishing feeling his warm, strong muscles underneath. "'One never knows when the slightest detail might be important'. I never knew you were a scholar." 

"Not like you, or Balin, or even Ori. I didn't have time to learn everything, as much as I would have liked, but what was most needed to help our people. I drilled on as much statecraft as I could coax out of my grandfather, father and the surviving counsellors. As much knowledge as I could get out of anyone older than I." 

"And wife lore?"

He ducked his head and gave her a small, crooked smile. "I memorized that long before. I found it quite fascinating" He took her hand from his arm and kissed her knuckles, and then her palm, his eyes on hers. Billa flushed from a long wave of heat that ran through her, head to toe. She huffed out a small laugh. 

"Mmm?" Thorin brushed his lips over her palm, feather light. His eyes had a fascinating darker ring of blue around the iris, and Billa had the sensation of falling into a deep pool as warm as his gaze. She pinched her leg through her skirt, trying to keep the ability to speak. 

"When you looked at me like that at the table....." 

Thorin bit the base of her thumb lightly. Billa whimpered as he soothed it with his tongue. 

"I wanted to crawl right back in your lap and kiss you breathless," she confessed in a rush. 

Thorin swallowed hard and closed his eyes. "My pearl." He tucked the paper in his pocket and took her hand in both of his, smoothing his thumbs over her palm. "If I kiss you now, I'll never be able to stop to put the courting beads in your hair, " he said huskily. 

"About that," Billa said, and he looked up at her. 

"Is that mischief I see in your eyes?" he asked, smiling. "Wife" hung in the air between them, an echo of his earlier slip, and Billa raised her eyebrows. Thorin hung his head with a groan. 

"That's always going to be there when I say that, isn't it?" 

Billa grinned. "For a bit." He kissed her palm twice in apology. 

"Then what mischief have you in store for me...Billa?" 

"I thought," she said, still smiling but a little shy. "That we might like to...that...I can't really think when you touch my hands like that, love."

Thorin inclined his head (probably hiding a smug smile) and curled their hands together over his heart, which drew her forward a bit. "Better?" 

"Yes, though I seem so much closer...." Billa teased as she looked up at him. 

"How odd." His voice was dry. "Now, you were saying, my pearl?" 

"I get the impression that braiding courting beads in one another's hair is rather a special moment." 

"Yes," he replied softly, the lines beside his eyes crinkling in a smile. 

"So, I've planned something where we can sit and be undisturbed for a bit..."

Thorin glanced around the garden, eyebrows raised. 

"Baa?" 

"Point taken." 

"But I won't..it won't be quite ready until dinner time. I'd make a picnic supper, but since we're not to go out at night...I've found a nice place, cozy, but out of the way, down the other end of hall from the sleeping rooms." 

Thorin stroked her cheek with his knuckles. "You're making dinner?" 

"Actually, just dessert, not to put too much of the kitchen in an uproar, and serving it myself. No sheep or dogs." She grinned at him and he rolled his eyes. 

"You cannot tell me it isn't unnerving." 

"No, I can't. You're agreed? Dinner without the company?" 

"Let me see, time without a great lot of belching, generally bad-mannered males, or the beautiful hobbit who is in my heart? Hmmm. What did you say you were serving?" 

"You'll be wearing it, you....." Billa made to smack him on the arm, but, not quite knowing where the bruises were, elected to give him a tiny poke with her smallest finger and a horrible scowl. Thorin grinned back. 

"I would be honored, Miss Baggins." He said formally, bowing his head. His expression softened and he stroked her cheek again. " _Ghivashel._ Is this a hobbit courting tradition?" 

"Yes, it is. Normally I'd make you first a dessert, then a full dinner of my very best recipes, but I'll make do." 

"Your 'making do' is likely to be a holiday feast." 

Billa blushed. "You keep calling me something," she said softly. "I know your language is secret..." 

" _Ghivashel_. It is one way we say 'beloved'. 'Treasure of all treasures.'"

"Far too fancy for a simple hobb-" She broke off at his raised eyebrows and at the finger he rested gently on her lips. 

"You are no simple anything, beloved. If I have not said it before, I should have." his voice was hushed but firm, and he cradled her cheek in his hand. "And you are no simple anything to me. In my eyes you are a rare treasure. _Ghivashel_. Please hear me on this." 

"I will hear you if you forgive yourself, as I asked earlier." 

He bent his head, acknowledging the point. "Then we shall struggle on together then, my pearl, trying to see ourselves through the other's eyes." 

"What a lovely way to put that, Thorin." 

"Not my own words, put part of a formal proposal. If there are no flowers about." 

Billa raised her eyebrows in anticipation. 

"I've proposed once today, my pearl, even if it was initially an accident." 

" Hmm. I suppose that is greedy. I meant to tell you, yours are the loveliest endearments I've ever had sent my way."

"Not endearments, or not just," he said softly. "Names of who you are to me. What rises in my heart when I see you, or think of you. A rare pearl. A precious treasure." 

"Dearest," Billa whispered. 

"See? You have names for me as well. I am fond of that one. Fonder still of when you call me 'love.'"

Mischief flashed in her eyes. "And then there was that time you called me wi-" 

With mock growl, Thorin darted forward and kissed her, and she laughed against his lips. He playfully plundered her mouth, little nipping kisses and feints, then she made a soft sound that shot right through him, and he was pressing her into the curve of his body, her hands were in his hair, her tongue an intoxicating little curl under his, her soft moan and tremble in his arms. After a morning learning some of her signs of desire, he began to rise for her, and thought briefly of jabbing a finger into one of his bruises before he embarrassed them both. Or perhaps his ribs. The thought of that pain, actually, helped, and he gentled the kiss without having to tear himself away or startle her. He rested his forehead against hers, taking a deep breath.

"So much fire between us," he murmured. 

"Mmm." She sounded pleased. 

"Billa, there is some knowledge I am desperate to know. Will you sit with me?" 

"Certainly, dearest, if you're _desperate._ " 

He settled them on the low bench, keeping one of her hands in his. 

"You're very serious," She said, brushing a bit of her unbound hair from her cheek. Thorin took a moment to help her arrange it behind her shoulders, and she gave him a fond glance. "What is it?" 

He stroked her hair. "I do not know how hobbits court." 

She drew breath to speak and he squeezed her hand, stilling her. 

"Fire rises between us, my pearl," he said, smiling into her eyes. "Hot and high. As much as I revel in your responses, I would not for the world touch you in a way that would frighten you or that would be dishonorable to your ways. Our ways are - once you have welcomed my suit and my kisses - that I may touch your hands and arms, your head and neck, your waist, and your back from nape to waist, without dishonor. All else, I need your express invitation. And I will not join with you without such invitation, either." He kissed her knuckles, regarding her downturned, blushing face. "This is uncomfortable, I know..." 

"No, no, really..." 

"Billa, look up and see how much I blush." 

She glanced up, and frowned. "Not much," she muttered. 

He gave her a rueful smile and drew back his hair to bare his ear. Her eyes flew wide. She reached up and he tilted his head so she could touch it. 

"Oh my goodness, your poor ear is burning up." 

"When I was small, I thought they might catch fire," he confessed. "And run to my rooms whenever scolded or terribly embarrassed and fling myself on the floor." 

"You didn't!" Billa unsuccessfully stifled a giggle. 

"Oh, but I did. I would splash water on them, and lie on the cool stone tile in my bathing room to keep them from burning my hair when I was upset, alternating one, then the other. My mother finally coaxed the reason out of me." 

"You poor dear." She petted his ear and smoothed his hair back over it. "You're right, the conversation is a bit uncomfortable, but you're doing it with my comfort in mind, and for that I thank you." 

"And my peace of mind as well. Better now, than touch you carelessly and find myself getting smacked in the face." 

"You're too tall; I'd kick you instead." 

"Hmmm," he considered as he kissed her hand. "We should start you on hand-to-hand training." 

"Where were you planning on trying to kiss me?" Billa's voice rose with shock and humor. She used her free hand to slap playfully at his arm, and he carefully leaned backward to avoid it, chuckling. 

"I only meant that it was a very good instinct against a taller opponent!" 

"Oh," she said, subsiding, and grinned at him "Sorry. Right. Hobbits." Billa took a deep breath. "We're encouraged to play a bit, as tweens - the years from 20 to our coming of age at 33 - to make sure that one knows if one is attracted to their opposite, male and female, the same as, or no one at all. I know some may frown on that, but it saves a good deal of heartache, later." 

"Dwarrow are less than one third female, Billa," he smiled. "We are much the same way."

"Hobbits love parties, so most meet up at dances. If you dance with someone three times, it's understood you're accepting a bit of a kiss and cuddle between dances, a step or two beyond the party lights. Either person may ask the other. So, there's a bit of kissing and about as much experimenting as one can do within reason, much as you described. But most don't go any further than that, and there's no binding on you after the party is over. You may choose to court or not, but it's understood that females should be very choosy about who to have a party cuddle with, so as to not seem fast. Oh! Add that you never touch the fur of another hobbit's feet without permission. Or their ears. That will get you a smack, sure enough." 

"Sensitive?" 

"The ears, very much, the feet, no just rude. I know our feet are bare, but...." She took a shaky breath. "I believe the thought is, if you're fast enough to fondle someone's feet without permission, you might wander higher." 

"Ah." 

"Now." And at this, Billa swallowed hard and found she could only address their hands. "If you're courting, you may explore a bit more if you like, as long as you're discreet, but it's not usually until you become betrothed, until you're sure. And have the good sense not to come to your wedding table with a round belly. Most of our weddings are midsummer, so if you've waited since the previous winter....you may be virgins by degrees or not at all by the time you come to the marriage bed. I only know this via my more gossipy cousins. As I said, everyone is very discreet, and again, it is thought less of you if you're not." 

Thorin did not want to force her to look at him when she was blushing so, but he wished he could see her face as he told her the next part. "There is a difference between us, then. For lovers to join together, true joining? He ducked to catch her eye, and she gave him a small nod that she understood the emphasis. "To be together thus is a marriage for us, sacred, and binding. Many take lovers to seek comfort or companionship without giving their hearts, but once you find your One, once you become betrothed, you wait until the dwarrowdam, or the one being courted calls. If you were to invite me to your bed as a wife invites her husband, and I came to you thus, we would be wed in full." 

There was a long, thrumming silence, and Thorin began to worry that he'd been a bit too personal, at the last, using the two of them as examples. It was certainly distracting _him_ to think of such an invitation from her. Billa stroked his hand as she thought and finally said softly, "And that is how we would marry?" 

"It is the simplest for two hearts to bind together thus. And to me, a wedding at its' most essential; to unite spirit, body, mind and heart." She sighed at that, breath hitching a bit, and kissed his palm. He leaned forward to kiss her hair, and they sat quietly for a moment until her breathing settled, and the small swell of emotion in his own throat at her reaction subsided. 

"We have other forms, via contract after courtship and betrothal, often used between families of great property or nobility, or via the groom giving the head of his beloved's family gifts of treasure, saved for a lifetime, not in payment for a spouse, but in gratitude for the precious gift of their child. And depending on social status, there would be some formal celebration of vows." 

"For us, once betrothed, you plant a garden together, one builds a home and the other works to furnish it, and then at harvest, you serve a wedding feast from your own garden. It's a good way to find if you're compatible. Two gardeners in a plot and two cooks in a kitchen. Brawls have broken out over tomatoes or seating charts." Thorin chuckled and kissed her hand. 

"We have somewhat similar customs, to provide a home." He paused. "Except one makes gifts using the best of your craft to give to your beloved, to prove your worth to provide, instead of gardening." 

Billa slanted her eyes at him, a slightly nervous and watching him carefully. "I suppose you'd have to have a great formal wedding?" 

He reached out to brush his thumb over the silky curve of her cheek. "If you'll have me Billa, I want the wedding you ask for, though I admit that if all goes as we hope and we retake the mountain, we would probably have to have some sort of formal celebration, _and_ a contract to outline various matters, whether or not that's my preference, due to my status." 

"But we could have something just for us if we wanted. Something simple." 

Hope and growing certainty that they might be of the same mind and heart in this was flaring within him, and he kissed her palm, so as to not take her mouth, lest it seem he was pressing for her decision. "As simple as you wish. And since you have no immediate family living, I would, regardless, heap jewels upon you until you could not walk to show how precious you are to me. I hear that is what every female wants; to clank and rattle." 

Billa laughed, pure and happy, nerves fallen away, and leaned up to frame his face in her hands and give him a loud, smacking kiss. "This entire conversation has been to make that joke, hasn't it? Confess." 

"I have been keeping it in reserve." 

"Practical of you," she said, her eyes dancing with mirth. 

Thorin smiled and kissed her hand. "One more bridge to cross, and we're done." 

Billa nodded, her smile soft and shy. "I'll go first this time. I've not done more than the kisses and cuddles we've shared today. I felt no pull or interest in another for more." She cast her eyes down and swallowed hard. "Not until you," she whispered. 

"I want to kiss you so." he murmured, voice dipping low. Billa inhaled sharply and trembled, and Thorin had to close his eyes and take a deep breath not to answer her signs of desire. "But I still need some ability to think or speak." He could see the edge of her smile when he opened his eyes. 

"I would not come to you untried, my pearl." 

"I wouldn't expect you to be. You are a tiny bit older than I, yes?" 

"A hundred years and more," he replied wryly. "I've not taken lover for decades. I once sought comfort and companionship thus, those years I wandered, earning money for my people, but realized it held no savor to give just the body and not the rest. Not for me. It just brought despair. So, I put my heart even more into caring for my people. And as much as I travelled, I never found my One. Not until you. 

After having her face cast down so often to hide her blushes, her look of quiet joy as she raised her head caught his breath. "And you wish me to feel confidant and safe, honored, in your arms as we court." 

"And treasured. I want all that for you always, in my arms or not.

She smiled and rose, letting his hand trail through her fingers, and stood before him, pressing lightly against his knees. "Speaking of arms," she said. "Would you let me close enough to hug you?" I thought this way would pull less on your bad side." 

He let her nudge in between his knees and opened his arms to let her come close. Her standing evened out a bit of their height difference, and her chin rested comfortably on his shoulder as she sighed happily and held him close, arms around his shoulders. He buried his face in her neck and breathed her in, sunshine and lavender and honey soap. She hummed contentedly and pulled back a bit to take his face in her hands. 

"Words are gathering in my heart that I wish to say to you tonight, but know this, Thorin Oakenshield. I am so glad you spoke today, that you...how does the lore go...put yourself before me and opened your heart, that I might see you. You have opened my eyes and my heart, and are so very much more than I thought. Generous. Tender. Romantic. Poetic." She patted his cheeks with the tips of her fingers in a friendly gesture. "Frequently hilarious." Thorin ducked his head slightly to chuckle, and she impulsively kissed his forehead, and then his eyelids and cheeks, saying as she kissed him, "I admired you, and had a terrible crush on you. You are becoming so very dear to me." 

She pulled back to look into his face and found his eyes were wide with humor and something else, possibly disbelief....."What?" she asked. "What?" 

He blinked, seeming to shake himself to alertness, wrapping his arms around her waist more tightly as if for balance. "You are two breaths away from a formal proposal." 

"A proposal of what?" 

Thorin looked at her steadily. 

Billa's hands slipped to his shoulders. "You're joking." 

He inclined his head to say he was not. "The very one I mentioned." 

"We have the most bizarre luck." 

He inclined his head to say he wasn't sure it was just luck. 

"What must I do?" She asked, eyes sparkling, blush high and fierce on her cheeks.

"No, my pearl, please. Not until you mean it." She touched his mouth with her fingers, gently. 

"I'm so sorry, love, I didn't....you must know that I...." 

"I do, but be sure, rare one. Let me know your mind and heart, and you mine. Please be sure before you answer my proposal with your own." 

"I grow more sure by the hour, Thorin." She leaned forward to kiss him once, and again, and when he released the tension coiled in his shoulders from her accidental teasing, she gently took his mouth to remind him of her heart. He yearned into her, like something seeking warmth and light. Holding him like this was such a joy, blending her strength and heart with his. 

They kissed until she felt that warm, slow glow that seemed to wrap around her when they embraced, until their hands were tangled in each other's hair, until he made those low, satisfied, almost-purrs of approval, and until she positively ached for him to touch her more boldly, which did not scandalize her as much as she thought it should. They slowed by unspoken agreement, and finally rested together, foreheads touching, letting their ragged breathing settle. 

"You were right; knowing one another's ways helps."

He hummed and pulled her into a hug, his hand stroking the length of her hair. "When do you have to go to the kitchens?" 

"Not for quite a bit, maybe an hour or two." 

"Then teach me the language of flowers, Billa Baggins. I am desperate to know."


	6. Of Beads and Boundaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The courtship dinner/courtship beads scene. To those of you familiar with the original, the actual braiding and beading comes, slightly altered, from there. But, as the longest chapter so far, there is plenty more original stuff! 
> 
> And cake!

They sat curled next to one another on the shadier end of the stone slab bench, Thorin once again muttering over his list, making annotations, and Billa leaning against his good side, trying very hard not to grin like a fool over how very seriously he was taking learning her "craft." 

Billa wished for her distant cousin Primula, her very favorite cousin, her partner in exploring all the ways of males and kissing and the mechanics of how couples joined together, with whatever resource they could find. With Primula, Billa felt sure she could coo over Thorin's listmaking, his meticulous approach, his earnest questions about the plants, and above all, that accidental proposal, without any fear of teasing about her gleeful, whole-hearted departure from spinsterhood. (Also, that pesky vow of hers never to marry.) And Primula would be the first to point out that Thorin was as handsome as any of the mysterious heroes in their secret stash of romance novels. 

She felt the absence of her cousin keenly, because her nearest female friend at the moment, a sheep, would not understand her desire to jump up and down, shrieking with joy like a child, or that the warm glow of joy she felt, that when Billa looked in the mirror in the washroom, looked an awful lot like Primula's expression when she fell in love with her husband Drogo. 

"It _is_ a very flirty garden," Thorin finally declared. "A lot of flowers for hope and introduction, furthering courtship and beyond, and yet, with a few to cut it short as well." 

"There are a good many striped carnations and yellow pinks, aren't there?" 

"And why would you call a yellow flower a 'pink'? And why do some flowers have more than one meaning?" 

"It varies a little bit from village to village, sorry about that, I did give you the Hobbiton meanings first. And as for the pinks? Dearest, I haven't the slightest. Maybe the first ones were pink, and crossbreeding threw out some yellow ones?" 

Thorin hummed deep in his throat and tapped his pencil against his lips. "Gardening lore is going to be a large task." 

"We can start small," she assured him. "Maybe some tomatoes and herbs. Things that grow quickly." She realized a breath later, she was already mentally planting a betrothal garden with him and cast a look out of the corner of her eye to see if he'd caught her slip. He shifted, sliding his arm around her waist. "If perhaps we plant a garden. Someday." she added belatedly. 

"There was a lot of hope and possibility in that sentence, Miss Baggins," he murmured, his mouth in her hair. 

She leaned against him. "There was," she whispered. "There is." They just sat for a while. It reminded Billa of that lovely, comfortable moment earlier in the day, as Thorin was drifting into sleep, and as then, she could feel a sense of tenderness and deep affection from his presence, warm and golden, and so dear. 

"Thank you for sharing this with me. I begin to understand a bit better the hobbit fascination with gardens. We are more alike than I had thought." 

"How so?" 

"Dwarrow love the precious gems and metals that come from the earth, love coaxing them out of their hiding places and creating beautiful and useful things with them. Hobbits seem the same, but with growing things, though tied to seasons far more than we are, but your creations do not last through time as ours do, which is unfortunate for the amount of time you pour into it." 

"Oh, I don't agree." Billa asked. "They may disappear, but last in living bodies - for without the food we grow, none of us would last for long - and in the memories of meals shared together and beautiful gifts given. I'll never forget my first gift of flowers from you. A different way of lasting through time." 

He tightened his arm around her, kissed her hair and rested his cheek against her head. "I very much like seeing the world through your eyes." 

"And I yours, and learning so much more about your culture." She extended her arm, palm open, across his chest, and he took her hand, and held it pressed against his heart. 

"Not pulling on your stitches?" 

"No, shhh." He kissed her head again. 

"You shhh," she replied, a thread of humor in her tone. "I think I love learning about your culture so much - besides it being part of you - because dwarrow present themselves so very strong and rough, proud warriors and miners, gruff and arrogant, but underneath there's this whole lore instructing you how to approach courtship that is so beautiful, and I'm sure the marriage and wife lore is the same. And your music, my goodness, hearing you all sing is so lovely. You must have some sort of training." 

"Yes, some. And most of us play instruments, though many are impractical on the road." 

"What do you play?"

"Harp. My mother taught me." 

"Well. I would have guessed something different, like drums for your deep strength and how very purposeful you are, but you're also very elegant in your dress and the way you move, so harp would also fit." 

Thorin gave her a small half-hug and pressed his mouth to her hair for a long moment. "Flattery," he said finally, his voice low and laughing. 

"Truth," Billa replied instantly. "I watched you, too." 

"I missed it," he said ruefully. "But it seems I please you. Good to know." 

She turned slightly and gave him such a look of frank desire his breath caught. He kissed the hand he'd been holding over his heart, and when she tilted her chin just so, leaned down to taste her lovely mouth. She kissed him with a slow, confidant sweetness that set his skin alight again. He released her hand to cup her cheek and deepen the kiss. Billa made a soft sound as she melted against him, that small surrender, trust and desire, her body's call for him that was becoming increasingly difficult to resist. He pulled away slowly and watched as her eyes opened to gaze at him, luminous and tender. 

" _Ghivashel,_ " he murmured. 

"I should compliment you more often," she replied. "For such lovely kisses." 

"There is no need for compliments, I would kiss you for the slightest reason." 

Billa smiled. "Then kiss me goodbye, because I should go to the kitchen." 

"I'll walk you. I should go watch the sparring." He rose stiffly and offered a hand to help her up. "We should start you on that soon." 

Billa tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. "I know." 

"I would like to teach you myself," he said. 

"Not if it puts your healing back a minute," she said fiercely. 

"I heal quickly. Dwarrow have thick hides." 

She scowled. "Can't one of the others train me? At least to start." 

Thorin was silent for a long moment. "I would prefer to guide you through the proper stances." There was stiffness about his tone that was familiar, and grumpy. Billa looked at him out of the corner of her eye for a moment until understanding dawned. 

"That involves a lot of touching and correcting positions, doesn't it?" 

"Yes." 

"And as the person you're courting...." 

"Yes." 

She leaned against him. "You know I like you best, my love," she teased softly. 

He snorted derisively. "It's not that, it's...." 

"Yes it is." 

A long pause. He cleared his throat. "Maybe a bit." Another pause, and a long sigh. "We really should get you started sooner rather than later. If you don't mind Dwalin helping." 

"Wouldn't someone....shorter be better?" 

"No, because we're going to have to teach you how to fight dirty. To survive anyway possible. He and Nori would be the best at that, and Dwalin has more experience teaching." He covered her hand on with his own. "You're taking this rather well. I expected you to...balk." 

"If I can add what little I can offer to protect or save one of the people I...I would do everything I could, I didn't like it, not one bit, but I would..." her voice broke as her throat closed. Thorin simply turned and pulled her into his arms. 

"Brave pearl. Beloved pearl." 

"I'm all right," she said, muffled by his chest. "I'm really all right." 

"I can't imagine what this costs you, Billa. I can't imagine what it cost you to follow me that night. I was nearly unconscious, but I saw what was coming for you." 

She pulled away slightly. "I would do it again, but I will always, always try to reason with...people. But it's quite clear that goblins, orcs and wargs are _not_ the type to...." 

"No." 

"Well." She sniffed a bit. "Well, then." She put a bit of starch in her spine and looked him in the eye. "Then weapons training it is." 

He cupped her cheek and simply looked at her for a moment, not wanting to pull away from the sense of deep peace her presence brought him. "Treasure of all treasures." 

She blushed and ducked her head. "Well, this treasure has some baking to do. I hope you like raspberries." 

"I do." 

"Oh, goodness, is there anything the animals have been serving that you don't like? I do wish I could make a roast or a chicken." 

"Billa. All will be well. I am sure I'll be inclined to pay more attention to my dinner companion than my meal. Which I'm sure with be excellent." 

"Flattery." 

"Truth." He bent to kiss her lightly. "I look forward to this evening." 

"As do I." She said, smiling, and turned to go into the house. 

~~~~

Billa was just looking at the spread she'd set out in some dismay, longing for her own pantry, her own kitchen. True, she'd done her best with the stores here, but she really wanted to do herself proud, no matter what Thorin said the company being more important than the meal. She was a hobbit, of _course_ the meal was important. Darting forward, she adjusted the jug of flowers Thorin had given her that morning, settling the ivy vines just so, then stepped back to judge the effect. 

"I find you again scowling at flowers, my pearl," Thorin said quietly. Billa whirled, one hand over her heart, startled. 

"Oh, I..."

"My apologies, I thought you would have heard me coming." They both looked down at his steel-toed boots. 

"I may have been a bit distracted." She smiled at him, nerves jittering for a different reason. "Hello." 

He stepped forward, coming quite close. "Hello. Everything looks lovely." 

"You've barely looked at anything but...oh." 

"Oh," he echoed, smiling, and touched her cheek. "I brought additions for the vase," he said, and drew a small handful of flowers from behind his back. White bell flowers, lavender and fern. 

Billa smiled broadly and took them from his hands to read the message there. "Gratitude, devotion and sincerity. Dearest," she said, low and fond. "Dearest one." 

He let out a small relieved breath, looking so young and pleased, she had to go on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He caught her around the waist to steady her, and when her heels hit the floor, she looked up at him, saw the tenderness and affection in his gaze and went back on her toes, reaching for him, and then his mouth was on hers, so warm, kissing her top lip, then the bottom, teeth a gentle graze, and then a slow, full kiss to the corner of her mouth, his tongue a shy, teasing question, and Billa gasped softly. Thorin swept in tenderly, silky heady kisses that made her feel as if she'd float right off the ground. She sighed, nerves and dinner entirely forgotten, and felt him smile against her mouth. 

"I would gladly kiss you all evening, my pearl, but my hostess might object." 

She blinked at him a moment, wondering who on earth might he be talking about. Vaguely, she considered the sheep. "Oh! Yes, well." She said, a little flustered, as reason dawned. "Let's get these in water." 

Thorin took a knife out of his boot and offered to cut the stems, which he did carefully, and at an angle. Billa nodded approvingly. 

"You are quite the earnest student, my love." 

"I confess I certain attachment to the teacher." 

"Is that why there was so much flirting?" 

Thorin squinted and tried to look majestic. "Possibly," he said shortly. 

Billa laughed aloud, and gestured to the small picnic she'd made before the fire as she knelt to arrange the blooms. "I couldn't quite find more chairs and a table that were our size up here, so I'm hoping this is all right. I had Dori help me tip the bench over so you could have something to lean against in case...." 

"Don't fuss," he said mildly, and lowered himself slowly to the cushions she'd laid on the floor with a bit more ease than he'd had this morning. "Normally I would not sit before a lady but..." 

"You had to prove your point. I see your ways, Thorin Oakenshield." Billa neatly curled on her own pillows. 

If pressed, Billa couldn't say exactly what they'd talked about during dinner, or what she ate, because she was too busy looking her fill at Thorin in the candle and firelight, too busy watching his open, unguarded face, his smiles, and best of all, his laughter. She looked down in some surprise to find her plate empty. 

"I hear tell of a dessert," Thorin said, smiling, as he reached for her plate and put them aside. 

"You have good sources of information," Billa replied, and pulled the tray she had covered by a cloth toward her and drew it off with a flourish. 

" _That_ looks delicious," he said, nodding at the cake. "And like a flower I've not been taught about." 

"Not by choice, certainly," Billa replied, touching the spray of honeysuckle she'd used to fill the hole in the middle of the cake. "I found it growing by the raspberry bushes. It's honeysuckle." She teased a small vine free and offered it to him to smell. 

"Very delicate," he said approvingly. "And I understand, I think, the reference to honey." 

"Not yet, you don't," she said teasingly, as she shuffled on her knees to sit next to him. She separated two flowers and offered the end of one to him. "Taste the end of it." She demonstrated for him. 

He leaned forward, eyes on hers, and tasted the flower. "Mmm," he said slowly, his eyes dropping to her mouth. "I think I understand. Another?" 

Billa offered him a flower silently, and he took it from her and carefully dragged it over her lower lip. He leaned in to lick the nectar off her mouth and stayed to kiss her. He drew away, licking his own lip. "I am forgetting you're not dessert," he murmured. "What does it mean, honeysuckle?" 

"Mmm? Oh, it means 'bonds of love.' I thought that might be appropriate for a courting dinner and courting beads." 

"Very much so." He took her hand and kissed it. "Might I beg one kiss more from you before dessert?" 

"Just one." 

"I will try." 

He failed miserably, until Billa finally nipped at his mouth at perhaps the fourth or fifth kiss, laughing. "You're afraid to eat my cooking," she accused playfully. 

"I've had good account of it, plus a lovely stew in your home," he said, kissing down her cheek to her neck. "It's just that I've found someone more delicious...." 

"You are frequently hilarious, my love." 

"I am in sincere earnest, my pearl," he said, brushing his lips over her pulse point as she shivered. "But, I have been looking forward to that dessert. I made sure to lord it over my nephews this afternoon." He gave her one last small kiss and released her. 

"Did you, now?" Billa asked as she slid the tray closer to them, reluctant to leave Thorin's side. "And how did they take it? 

"Badly. Kili vowed to ambush our position, until I reminded him that we were exchanging courting beads." 

"And that stopped him?" Billa cut into the pound cake, and put both custard and raspberry sauce on a slice for Thorin." 

"Two sauces, interesting," he murmured. "And no, he wasn't stopped until his brother pointed out he might surprise us kissing." 

Billa grinned, fixing her own slice of cake, and coming back to curl at Thorin's side. "Something must have scandalized that lad very young." 

Thorin shrugged and took a bite of his cake. He froze, and Billa began to be concerned, until his eyelids fluttered and closed. He chewed several times and slumped back against the bench, an approving moan rumbling out of his chest. Billa flushed to her toes, having heard a version or two of that moan, though not quite so loud. 

"Durin's beard," he swore softly as he opened his eyes. " _This_ is the sort of fare I missed getting lost on the way to your home?" 

"Um, yes? I'm glad you like it." 

"Like it?" He took another bite, carefully getting both the raspberry and custard on his bite of cake. He shook his head, as if to say he was delighted that the second bite was as wonderful as the first. " _Like_ it? Is that orange?" 

"Yes, I found a bit of dried orange rind in the cupboard and used it in the raspberry sauce. Normally I'd use fresh and perhaps some of this lovely orange-flavored brandy I have..." 

He darted forward to kiss her soundly, then attended his plate for another bite. "Brandy would make this unsuitable to serve in mixed company, my rare one." He waved his fork, emphasizing his point, as he swallowed. "And, if you served it thus to me, I would caution you to lock the door and bar it." He gazed at his plate and back at her. "I might caution that anyway." 

Bill started to laugh around her mouthful of cake and waved her hand at him for him to stop while she recovered herself. He handed her a mug of water, either sorrowful for making her nearly choke or sorrowful that she was having to dilute her bite of cake, and that thought set her off again, and she had to put her plate down to get her napkin to dry her eyes. 

"Oh, Sweet Yavanna. Oh, my goodness," she gasped. "I've _never_ had such a carnal reaction to my cooking." 

He doctored another bite of cake with the proper amount of sauces. "I'm relatively certain a dry piece of burnt toast from your hand would provoke a carnal reaction from me, Billa, but this is truly marvelous." He took his bite, savored it for a moment, and then looked horrified with himself. He looked sidelong at her, and took in her silent, shaking laughter. "I did it again, didn't I?" he asked bleakly. 

"Well, you didn't call me _wife_ this time." She giggled. "Oh love, your poor face." 

"My poor face is eating cake. I shall return shortly," he said with dignity, and bent his head to his plate. Billa reached out to tuck his hair behind his ear, and thinking she was helping to keep his unbound hair out of the sauces, he let her, with appreciation. Then her little hand covered the shell of his ear, as if to test the temperature. He growled, and the hand withdrew, though his beloved's giggles renewed. 

"You, and this night, and this delicious dish is well worth my ears catching fire," he murmured. 

"I'm glad I came before the dessert." 

"Remind me to reacquaint you with why....after I finish this portion." He put he last bite in his mouth, humming his approval, and closed his eyes. 

"Gracious me. Remind me to have you at every meal, from now on." Too late, her brain caught up with her accidental innuendo, and she clapped a hand to her mouth while Thorin took his turn to struggle to swallow while laughing. 

Finally, he did, wiped his mouth, and reached to stroke her hair, and leaned in. "There was an awful lot of hope....and _possibility_ in that sentence, my pearl," he purred, and she rolled her eyes. He kissed her softly, and she huffed with amusement even as she returned the kiss. "But if you do have me at every meal, might I suggest those sauces? They are really..." And suddenly he had an armful of laughing, blushing hobbit, trying to kiss him and laugh at the same time, and it was a lovely challenge to try for more kisses. 

"You horrible dwarf," she scolded. 

"I preferred 'majestic idiot,' if I may choose." 

"I'll take it under consideration." 

"That's all I ask for." 

"Is it?" 

"No, not even the beginning," Thorin said, sobering. "But I would ask to have my courting beads in your lovely hair." He paused. "And perhaps another bit of cake, later." 

"Yes, to both," she said softly. "Tell me where to sit." 

"I'd very much like to comb out your hair, and then place the braid." He touched just behind her left ear. "Just one tonight, for comfort sleeping. I would be honored if you'll allow me to add the other beads and braid the rest to your liking tomorrow morning." 

"Why do I get the idea," she asked, shy. "That braiding my hair might become a morning ritual?" 

"Because it's something we do for loved ones. And it gives me a chance to be close to you every day, even if we're on the road." 

She petted his beard several times, gazing at him tenderly. "You are so very dear. How did I ever think you cold?" 

"We don't show a great deal of the softer emotions or passion in public, hence Kili's scandalized behavior and the gasps when I took your hand. And, I was running from you like a fool." 

"You have no trouble showing them now." 

"At the moment we _are_ in private. As for in front of the company? I am very, very serious about you, Billa Baggins." 

Billa reached out a hand to steady herself against his chest as she swayed slightly. "And I you." 

He rubbed his nose against hers, fighting the pull at his side as he bent toward her. "Come, sit, if you will, between my knees?" 

"Yes," she said, voice breathy, and used both hands to push gently at his shoulder. "And you straighten up before you re-injure something." 

"Shhh." 

"You shh," she said, moving the dishes and the cake out of the way, before curling up between his legs. "All right?" 

"Yes." he gathered her hair to fall behind her shoulders, gently removed clasp she'd used to hold it back while preparing for dinner, and handed it to her, before stroking down the length of her hair. 

"I forgot my comb," she said, patting her pockets. 

"I brought mine, and these," he said, leaning forward to show her a small bag. "Open your hand." She did and he poured a small river a beads into her palm. 

They gleamed in the firelight, gold and silver or platinum, complex and amazing, some studded with what had to be precious gems. “Thorin,” Billa half-protested, “these are so beautiful; far too fine for the likes of me.” 

“Nonsense,” he growled softly. “They were my mother’s, made by my father, and completely appropriate for courting.” Billa gazed back at her handful of treasure. 

Thorin curled around her, his hands coming up to bracket hers. “We will not use them all, not yet,” he explained, separating out a few beads. “My father made this clasp when he courted my mother, and these others.” He showed her the tube-shaped beads with gems of blue and milky white, the centers of flowers wrought in gold and silver metal. “Sapphire for the line of Durin. My mother’s family was from Moria, and mined moonstone and mithril, what we call true-silver. And I think the flowers entirely appropriate for a gardener.” 

She couldn’t help but smile at that. “Very appropriate.” 

“May I use these, then?” He waited for her nod and swept the other beads back into the pouch, leaving the ones they’d chosen in her hand. Billa looked at him, inquiring, and he wiggled the comb at her, motioning for her to turn around. "I'll use just the courting bead tonight." 

She had not had her hair combed for her since her mother died, and Billa had forgotten the pure bone-deep pleasure in the slow strokes and soft touches. Thorin was gentle, teasing out knots patiently, and when they were all tamed, he combed the whole fall of it with long, fluid strokes that had Billa swaying as he hummed and softly sang a few snatches of verse in what had to be Khuzdul, and his deep, smooth voice made the strange language sound beautiful. 

“What are you singing?” she asked as he tilted her head back and began selecting sections of hair to braid. 

“It is a song,” he murmured, lips brushing her ear, “of longing.” Billa swayed, making a soft sound as the longing flared in her, low and warm.

“The words?” 

“Hmmm, if I said I was reminded of the song by what you said about future mealtimes, would you still be ready to hear?" 

Billa shivered and clutched at his knee for support. “You!” She turned to glare at him over her shoulder. “And now I will be thinking of it!” 

Thorin smiled, unrepentant and hot-eyed. He stroked her hair. “The braid, my pearl,” he said, huskily. “I would have you marked as mine.” 

Billa swallowed hard and turned her head. The air, somehow, crackled between them, and she felt glowing and molten in his hands. Silently, he turned her to curl between his legs, facing him, and wove a braid next to her left ear, like the ones he wore, staring into her eyes all the while. As he set the bead at the end of it, Billa let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. 

After a moment, she had to look away from his intense gaze and stroked the ends of his long unbraided hair as it spilled across his chest. 

“I never would have imagined this,” she ventured softly. “Not in the slightest. First, I’ve never heard you speak so much in my life as I have today.” She darted a smile up at him, and Thorin huffed and clasped her loosely, his hands around her upper arms. “And I assumed that you were solely intent on reclaiming Erebor, and never something so frivolous as courting a hobbit, that you would always remain a stern and majestic warrior king. ” 

He drew breath to speak, and she put a stilling hand on his chest and addressed his breastbone, feeling shy. “When hobbits marry, it’s a comfortable life and seemed to me like a comfortable love, at least with the hobbits of my generation. And as much as I love my home and my books, simply to marry to be just as _comfortable_ as I was on my own didn’t sit quite right with me. My Tookish side, I suppose. And I was content to travel comfortably through my books.” 

“You lot came, and I wanted no part of it. But then you sang. Oh, my dear, that song. So much pain and fire, and the verses said going back for your gold, but I heard _‘home.’_ There was so much love in your voice. As I said, I saw a bit of your heart in that song and it was deep and strong and not comfortable at all. The next morning, my house was far too quiet. Comfortable was suddenly very unappealing.” 

He stroked her arms gently, eyes bright, clearly moved and still regretful for how he treated her before. 

She gave him a quiet grin. “You’re lucky I’m stubborn and learned to like a challenge.” 

“Pearl,” he whispered, loving and pained. 

“Forgiven, so hush, you,” she replied, tugging on his hair a bit, and leaned up to press a quick kiss to his mouth. 

Thorin caught her close and deepened the kiss, soft and slow. Billa rose on her knees to get nearer, until their mouths were even, and threaded her hands into the fall of his hair with the sigh of getting a longed-for treat. She could feel the curve of his smile against her mouth as he smoothed his hands up and down the length of her back, hands lingering at just the edge of her hips before skimming back up, thumbs just barely brushing the sides of her breasts. She gasped, and Thorin answered her with a soft moan of his own, a great shudder running through his frame as he changed the slant of his lips against hers and the kiss grew suddenly, tantalizingly, and all too briefly hot. 

He broke away with a sigh and pressed his forehead to hers. "I am so fortunate," he murmured. 

“As am I,” Billa replied. “What am I to do with all this hair?” she asked, stroking the ends of it. 

He reached into a pocket and handed her the now-familiar beads he wore, with the addition of one more long bead in jewels and colors to similar her own, but with far more mithril and flowers of moonstone set with sapphires. He threaded a few strands of his hair in one, showing her the cunning way to secure the beads. 

“That is so clever. Did your mother make this?” she asked, stroking the small flowers. 

He nodded and handed her the comb. When she shifted to rise, his hands were quickly on her waist, stilling her, his eyes suddenly very large and sorrowful. 

“I need to get up to comb your hair, Thorin,” she reminded him with a smile.

Somehow, his eyes became even larger. “You can do it well enough from here.”

“A great deal of it is on the back of your head.” 

He looked at her so mournfully, hands heavy at her waist. She laughed. “Kili looked just like that when Fili ate the last of the jam tart.” 

Thorin stroked the corner of her mouth with his thumb. “I like watching your face in the firelight.” 

Swallowing hard, Billa nodded. Thorin pulled his hair over his shoulders and she sat on her heels to begin, carefully combing from the ends, then higher, rising on to her knees to reach behind him slightly to get at tangles along the back, and then spreading each side against his chest to perfect before kneeling up again to run the comb from crown to ends. She felt his eyes on her all the while, as heavy as a touch. 

At first, Billa found she could only glance at him briefly as she worked because his gaze was so open and tender, so admiring. Between that and brushing against him as she worked caused her to quake deep inside, and her hands shook, fumbling the comb. He didn’t seem to notice her clumsy fingers but sat as still as stone beneath her ministrations, save for his eyes and the quickening of his breath. She grew bolder as the time neared to braid, and by the time she was combing the whole luxurious fall, she did so looking into his eyes. She glanced away only to section the hair she needed for his usual braids and wove each by touch, watching him watch her mouth, her body, her hair, her eyes. At last, she sat with only the courtship bead in her hand. He gently touched the braid hanging by her left ear, and understanding, she rose to prepare his. 

Billa’s mouth went dry at the change in Thorin’s expression as she claimed the hair for his courtship braid. Tenderness merged with fierce, wondering joy, and her breath began to hitch in concert with his, the tears pricking in her eyes matched by the ones she gazed into. By the time she reached the end of the braid, her hands were shaking so hard she had to look at what she was doing to finish, and he supported her, hands warm and soothing at her back, as the clasp snicked closed. 

“I had not thought to hope,” he whispered, husky and low, taking each hand to kiss her palms in thanks. “For many years.” 

Billa had to swallow twice before she met his gaze. “Nor I.” 

And then his mouth was on hers, his arms pulling her deep into his embrace, and this was the dearest kiss yet, seemingly fathomless with joy and want, wonder and laughter and not promising a comfortable hobbity kind of love, not at all. It broke wild for a long moment, Billa gasping as Thorin devoured her mouth, his hands skimming her body from thigh to nape, just close enough to her breasts to make her keen with longing. All at once, he tore himself away, kissed her forehead, and lingered there, mouth resting against her skin, his breathing ragged, muscles tightly coiled. She shivered in his arms. 

“Billa, I…” his voice was rueful.

“If you apologize I will have to smack you. We only get one courtship braids kiss and I think that might have been a very fine one." 

"I...a little carried away, not entirely honora..." 

Billa pressed back into his embrace. "And aren't I the lucky one?" she whispered, looking directly into his eyes. "Dearest, I am not ready for more...but that much more of your touch I welcome."

He swallowed hard. "The more I touch you, the more of one another we touch, the more difficult it will be, Billa. More passion between us...." 

"I trust you."

Thorin dropped his head back and it made a hard, heavy noise against the wooden bench. "Oh, Mahal," he groaned, and took her mouth again, softly savoring her this time, and stroked up and down her back as if she were a cat in the sunshine, and she felt as such, uncurling under his hands. He ran his palms reverently over the curves of her bottom, slow and lush, pressing her skirt flat against her, and then gripped her hips lightly in his hands. Billa mewled against his mouth and shivered, pressing closer, and he answered her call with deeper, devouring kisses until she was lightheaded and swaying in his arms. He dragged his hands slowly up her sides, and she began to tremble with the anticipation of his hands closer to her breasts, but instead, he wrapped both arms around her and pulled her against him in a hug. 

"More and I will dishonor us both, Billa. I am drunk on you and thirst for more than either of us are ready to give." 

"I'm sorry, love. "

"Nothing to be sorry for, nothing at all. It was a delicious offer, but now we know where the cracks and fissures to our will are." He replied, holding her tightly and burying his face in her neck a moment. "Now. Please feed me cake."

Billa laughed and kissed his brow and cheeks as she withdrew, her discomfort diffused. As she turned to draw the cake closer, Thorin jabbed a firm thumb into one of his more painful bruises and shifted his legs slightly to hide just how very much she'd affected him. He reached for a glass of water and was taking a calming draught as she turned to offer more dessert. 

"Now, we've not discussed what craft you wish to teach me." She leaned forward slightly to hand him the cake, and the firelight shone on her collarbones and just a hint of the smooth skin and soft curves below. 

_"Lovemaking,"_ was his immediate thought, images of the pillow books he'd poured over as a hopeful youth cascading into his brain, alongside the memory of the sweetness of her touch, her body pressed against his, her intoxicating mouth. But he was no craft master, and she had not even said yes to his proposal, though by word and deed and the call of her body, near every moment indicated she would. But not yet. If she did, he was going to bar them in a room and love her until they both earned their mastery. Thorin blinked several times and took another long drink of water. "I...I need a moment to collect my thoughts, my pearl."

The light went from her face. "Thorin, I - " His remaining ardor cooled instantly in the face of her distress.

"Shhh, my love," he said, reaching for her hand. She came to him meekly. "I thought it a _fine_ idea, truly. I just..." 

"I am rather inexperienced, I suppose, to not know..." 

He kissed her hand. "It's no matter. Your touch, and your kisses move me like no other, Billa." 

"I didn't realize how much more _want_ I would feel, just that little bit more." 

"Nor I, rare one, nor I. I treasure your responses, treasure them, as I should. I had not expected - I still don't quite expect - how deeply you move me when we touch." He kissed her palm lightly, and she raised her head to look at him, a small smile gracing her lips, the light coming back to her eyes. 

"And, I think claiming one another added that much more to your place in my heart. I have had so many roles thrust upon me in this life, but you chose me. You claimed me, and that woke a hunger in me that I...showed a bit too much." 

"Not that I was complaining," she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. Thorin grinned at her. 

"Nor I. But I do request you warn me next time you wear those trousers of yours. I will find myself walking into walls, otherwise." 

"But...they're not exactly form fitting." 

"More so than a skirt. And now that my palms know the lushness of those curves..." 

Billa swallowed hard. "You have a point." 

Thorin nodded sagely. "And you have my cake. If I cannot allow myself one feast yet, may I have the other?" 

Blushing, she handed him the plate and fixed her own. She took it as a small victory he didn't apologize over the "yet." 

"What do you call this marvel of a cake, Billa?" 

"Pound cake with raspberry and custard sauce. It's really very simple...." 

"No, no, an enchantress should not reveal her spells." 

"You are so silly." They enjoyed their cake, exchanging small smiles. Thorin still seemed a bit subdued. Billa put some starch in her spine and cleared her throat. "You know, I have a bit of the same difficulty, with you just in your shirt." 

Fork in mouth, Thorin looked at her, then down at his properly laced shirt, his eyebrows raised. Billa ducked her head, blushing.

"I've been enjoying feeling the warmth of your skin through your shirt all day. I couldn't quite, that time you hugged me. All those layers." 

"And I was bleeding at the time." 

"That is less romantic, now that you mention it." 

Thorin gave her a sidelong, teasing glance. "I interrupted you." 

Billa blushed, and ducked her head toward her plate again. 

"Pearl, you need not say." 

"I do. You move me as well, my love, and not just your touch. I...I accidentally caught a glance of you, once, when we'd found a river to bathe in. You were without your shirt." She put her hand on her chest and took a deep breath. "Muscles. Chest hair." She fanned herself with her hand, and Thorin huffed out a startled laugh. "Very exotic. And I've thought of that often, today, feeling your muscles, warm beneath that shirt. I am _quite_ fond of that shirt, now." 

Thorin poured her a fresh mug of water and offered it. "I _do_ please you," he purred. Billa pressed the mug against one blushing cheek. She rolled her eyes. 

"Thorin, if you were any more beautiful, I would be in constant danger of fainting." 

He narrowed his eyes, which only made them crinkle at the corners attractively. "Flattery." 

Holding her thumb and index finger a half-inch a part, Billa said, "Only a touch. You run straight through 'handsome' and stand majestically atop 'beautiful,' making elves weep with envy. I'm quite sure that's what was amiss at Rivendell." Thorin began to chuckle. "And I thank the Green Lady you don't smile in full every day. That thing could be a _weapon._ " She jabbed her fork at him accusingly. "Truth." Thorin threw back his head and laughed. 

"So, when we meet on the practice field, I'm going to be attempting to not pay attention to the lushness of your figure, while you try not to be felled by my smile?" 

"Or the hardness of your muscles or the breadth of your shoulders. I thought it only fair to even the odds." 

"Miss Baggins, you could have used your knowledge to your distinct advantage." 

"Ah, but now you'll be just as self-conscious as I will." 

"Well played, my pearl. Very well played." He attended to his cake happily. Billa smiled down at her own, pleased to have dispelled the rest of the tension between them. 

"You mentioned crafts, earlier. I confess I'm finding it difficult to light on one, because of the difficulty of demonstrating this or that. Statecraft; dull but necessary, and I already know you're a better diplomat than I am. Blacksmithing; far be it from me to prevent you from something that holds your interest, but you do need a fair amount of upper body strength." 

"And we have no forge." She elected not to mention if he swung a hammer in his still-healing state, she'd put up the most enormous fuss he'd ever heard.

"And we have no forge. I have one harp in Erid Luin, with my sister, and one in Erebor, waiting on me. I am a fair hand at making jewelry, but again, we have no workshop or supplies." 

"What about the language of gems?" 

"Hard without the actual gems, for you to see their beauty and color. I have a few on hand, but no where near the variety I could show you." 

"You could at least tell me the basics...and while we're here, we could use flowers a color examples?" 

He savored a bite of cake and thought of it. "That idea has merit." 

"And when we reach the end of what we can do without actual gems, I would like to know more about your culture, and statecraft does not put me off at all. I've lived in the midst of a large extended family all my life. Diplomacy is a necessary skill." 

"Those are kind things to ask for, to know my world more fully." 

"They are important to you, of course I would want to know. And I like seeing the world through your eyes."

"Today you've seen through the eyes of a lover, let's see what you think when you've met the warrior, the instructor and perhaps, a bit of the king." 

"I've seen a good bit of you as most of those, my love. And here I am, plying you with cake." 

"That is a good sign."

"A very good sign."

He scraped the last of the sauce off his plate sadly. "I want to have more of this good sign, but I'm close to too full." 

"What do you say to having a bit toasted, with sauces, tomorrow morning when you braid my hair?" 

"I would ask you how you felt about sticky hair," he replied, sucking a bit of raspberry sauce off his thumb.

"Oh, well, shall I just leave this down stairs for the lads, then?"

"Seems hardly fair," he said quickly. "It not being enough to feed them all. Perhaps we should have some for breakfast.

She grinned at him. "I'll wrap it up tight then." 

He helped her gather the plates to go downstairs, and insisted on coming back for them after walking her to her room, despite her protests about his ribs. 

"It is only fair to do the dishes, or a semblance of them, as a good guest. And two plates, a platter and two saucers is not going to break me, Billa." She growled at him but allowed it. He took her hand and tucked it into his elbow as he led her down the corridor. 

"This was well done of you, my pearl, a true delight. Thank you. I'm so glad you thought of it."

Billa leaned against his arm, a small hug.

"You're very welcome. I'm so glad you liked it."

"'Like' is not the word I would apply to that cake, or your company."

"I blush to think of how you'll react when I cook you a full meal." 

"So do I."

He paused a moment, and then huffed out a small laugh as they drifted to as stop outside her door.

"There is a thing I wished to say to you that now has an extra meaning."

"And what might that be?"

"Perhaps I should kiss you goodnight first."

"If you must." She tilted her smiling face up, and he was struck anew by his growing love for her. 

"My pearl," he whispered, stroking her cheek. 

"Your pearl," she agreed, and reached for him. 

Her words made his heart swell with hope and possibility, and he kissed her with a bit more passion than he had intended. She matched him kiss for kiss with an approving purr, until by mutual, silent assent, they parted and stood, arms loosely around one another, as their breath slowed.

"Billa, when I sought you out this morning, I had but a tiny ember of hope in my heart, and now it is a bright flame."

"Oh my love," she whispered, reaching for him again. He kissed her softly. 

"And doubly bright, after tasting one of your enchanting desserts....the thought of a full _meal_...." 

She laughed and slapped his arms, and he had to kiss her smiling mouth. She tangled her hands in his hair and tugged it, laughing still, then petted it as they kissed one last time. 

"Good night, my pearl." 

"Good night, dearest one." 

He wandered back down the hall to their little nook, smiling, and because no one was there to notice, licked his dessert plate clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? They're really good sauces.
> 
> Seriously, y'all. Hardest couple to do a slow burn for, _ever_.


	7. Of Puzzles and Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A date for breakfast and braids turns a bit more serious than anyone expected, including your humble author.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bouquet translations in the end notes. Trying to figure out the best way to put these in without breaking up the flow of narrative.

A mug with a cheerful tangle of periwinkles, honeysuckle and pink roses sat a step or two in front of her door the next morning, and Billa realized that perhaps she hadn't dreamed that soft knock on her door after all. Thorin really was quite good at composition, she thought, enjoying the delicate fragrance of the flowers. She meant to put the mug on her bedside table, but instead found she'd walked down the corridor with it, looking for the giver of her gift. He must have been up very early to go down to pick them and seek out the honeysuckle over by the berry bushes. 

She smiled with delight when she found him toasting slices of cake next to the fire, his expression lending truth to the message of his flowers. Thorin looked up as she approached, began to set aside the toasting forks to rise, and she motioned him to stay down. He shifted and held out his arm, and Billa curled against his side. 

"Mmmm," she said, snuggling in. He pressed a slightly distracted kiss to her hair, keeping a watchful eye on the cake. 

"There's tea," he murmured. 

"Mmmm," she replied, grateful, and didn't move. He snorted softly. 

"Not ready to use your words?" he teased. 

" _Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn_ ," she couldn't help but reply, and he kissed her hair again, chuckling. 

"Cake's almost ready." 

Billa sighed, content. "You were up early." 

"Long habit." With a small half-hug, he released her to safely transfer the cake to waiting plates, which were also scattered with a few fresh raspberries.

"I love my thank you note," she said curling the mug of flowers against her chest.

"I'm glad," he replied, looking over his shoulder to give her a warm look. "Both sauces?" 

“Of course.”

He gently removed the mug of flowers from her hand and put them in pride of place next to this earlier bouquet, then handed her the plate. They settled together, eating companionably. Billa hummed affectionately and leaned against him after he'd made his third pleased sound around a bite of cake. 

"You warmed the custard, too. That was a nice touch." She pressed a bit a little closer, resting between bites, yawning, and thought about groping for her mug of tea, but it was too much effort. 

Thorin made a soft, amused snort, set his cake down, and tucked her firmly against his side, his hand gentle on her hair as he guided her head against his shoulder. "I thought you'd be like this in the morning. You _are_ like this in the morning when you're not struggling to conceal it, like you do on the road. Are all hobbits so slow to wake, or is it just you?"

"Mmm, we hobbits like our pleasures, and what's more lovely than a lie-in?" 

"Watching you wake," he said, voice husky. "I've had that honor twice now, or near enough."

"Thorin," she breathed, unconsciously stretching a bit in his arms, before she turned her face against his chest and nestled closer, breakfast forgotten. He took the plate from her lax hand, set it somewhere, and returned to bury his face in her curls. 

Billa hummed again, content, and leaned up to kiss the nearest bit of him she could reach, which turned out - when Thorin helpfully leaned down - to be the smooth skin just below his ear. She stopped him as he moved to straighten up, and checked to see if she'd left any sticky sauce behind, then carefully licked it from his skin before pressing a second kiss to his throat. 

Thorin couldn't help but make a soft, low sound and shifted to catch her mouth with his, and bending her slightly over his arm, kissed her good morning. She sighed, her hand coming up to tangle in his hair, and the kiss (as seemed to be quite often the case) lasted longer than he intended. She was soft and warm and tasted of raspberries, and purred with contentment as she returned his kisses. 

_"Ghivashel,"_ he named her when they parted. 

"Dearest. You are far less grouchy than usual this morning." she teased him gently. 

"I am."

"I had no idea my cake had such magical qualities."

"It's not the cake," he assured her. He started to release her and she caught his chin to look into his eyes, now quite awake, clever mind working. He waited, keeping nothing off his face.

"You can't be serious."

"I believe I've said otherwise."

Billa looked at him, slightly dazed. "You're telling me you were _incredibly_ grouchy in the mornings because...."

"Not all mornings, but many. We are traveling with my nephews, after all. They can be....exuberant at the worst of times. Not to mention worrying about the days's path, our stores, the weather....and there you were in the center of it, sleepy-eyed, hurrying to eat your breakfast and coiling away all your beautiful hair with those awful pins, and being helpful when you clearly just wanted to sit and commune with a cup of tea."

"And this made you grouchy."

He couldn't quite look at her. "My heart was screaming at me to take you in my arms and let you wake as you liked, and have your tea." 

"Hmmm," she said, a slight hitch in her voice. "I think you just wanted to get those red horn hairpins away from me." 

"It might have crossed my mind." He darted her a grateful glance. Forgiving him for pushing her - his One - away was a precious gift.

"Does this mean I can sleep a bit later when we get back on the road?"

"No, but, if you'll allow it, I'll help you with your hair while you have your tea."

"You have my provisional approval. Final say after I see what you do with my mop. By the way, those red pins you dislike are the only things sturdy enough to hold this mass in place for any length of time." 

"Hmmm. We shall see about that." He gave her a final kiss and released her. "Speaking of which, I should finish my cake and get started on your hair." 

"Are we in a great hurry?'

"Not as such, but I'd like to get downstairs and plan the day. If you're willing, we can start you on some simple training, and I wish to see if Gandalf and our host have returned. I don't want to plan the next stage of our journey until I hear Gandalf’s news and secure Beorn’s help with our stores. 

"Even though he's not coming with us?" 

Thorin sighed, disappointment and anger clear. "What is so incredibly important to abandon a quest that he _instigated_ when he gave me my father's map. It may be something we need to keep watch for.

"And if he's not back?

He found a smile for her, a small, private one. "Then we have most of the day to teach one another our crafts, and I get to see you in pants on the training ground." 

Billa blushed. "Is there any chance you'll overheat and take off your shirt?" she asked hopefully. 

Thorin snorted with amusement. "First, do not _ask_ your opponent to," he swallowed hard as he thought of her curves. "Distract you. Secondly, I'm afraid I'm too much a mass of bruises and bandages to be a distraction." 

His flirting fell flat as Billa's smile dropped off her face. "Bandages? Thorin how badly...." 

"Mostly to keep Oin's ointments from bleeding through all my clothing, I assure you. And a few places on my back that needed minor stitches. Truly, my pearl. Dwarrow are hardy and heal quickly. We'll be back on the road - depending on when Gandalf and our host return - in three or four days." 

She looked at him uncertainly. "Are you sure you'll be healed enough then? Your ribs have hurt you a good deal from time to time. You were so stiff yesterday." 

He leaned down for a kiss. "I will be fine, Billa. It will do me good to move. Thank you for your care." 

"I know you don't want me to fuss." 

"You have every right to, my love, when it's warranted, but I assure you it's not the case, here." 

After giving him a long, considering look, she said, "I have every right?" 

Thorin blinked a few times. "Yes," he said slowly. "You've protected me before from my own folly - running after Azog with not so much of a plan as a burning need for revenge - and we are in one another's hearts. I trust you." 

Billa swallowed hard. "That is a kingly gift, my love, that sort of trust." 

"I do not offer it as a king, but as myself," he said, eyes serious. He leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "Billa, I wish to know your mind, your opinions. If we are to be partners through life... _possibly_ partners for life." He gave her a slightly abashed smile. 

"Possibly. Hopefully," she replied, returning the smile. "Thank you, Thorin. I'm glad to be clear on that. I expect, I hope for, the same from you." 

When he looked at her so tenderly, gaze soft, but blazing blue with pride and what surely must be love, Billa couldn't help but put her own plate aside and reach for him. She kissed him once, and he pulled back slightly to murmur, "Will you come sit before me, as you did last night?" 

Billa winced. "Is your side pulling?"

"Not as much," he admitted, voice rumbling low. "I simply like to have you fully in my arms. And I would very much like to hold you right now." 

"What about my braids?" she teased him, though her breath caught in her throat.

"I braid very quickly," he assured her, and she laughed, gathered her skirts to move into place, knelt between his legs, and wrapped her arms around him in a tender hug. 

"This is so lovely, my heart," she sighed, and Thorin stiffened slightly. "Oh dear, did I hit a bruise?" She began to back away, and Thorin reeled her back in to hold her tightly and bury his face in her neck. 

"No, my rare one," he murmured, his voice slightly thick. "You have given me a new name. Why?" 

"Because...." Billa said slowly, wondering what she'd done. "It was something that rose in _my_ heart, which you are a part of? If you don't like it..." 

"No, no I do, very much. There is a reason, a secret, behind why, but I can't tell you..." 

"Part of your customs?" 

The tightness in his muscles uncoiled a bit. "Yes. Someday, hopefully - "

"Possibly." 

"Yes." 

Something had happened, something she didn't understand, and it had shaken him. "Thorin," she said hesitantly. "Have I marred our morning somehow? If so I am very sorry." 

He leaned back slightly to look into her face, and what Billa saw there in his eyes, the wonder and the love, such deep love, she trembled, and it called to something deep within her, warm and sure, and she realized that she was not just falling in love with him, but she _was_ in love with him. 

Thorin must have seen it in her face, for he swallowed hard, his hands suddenly restless on her back, her hair. "Billa," he said, his voice hoarse and questioning. 

"My heart is so full," she replied, her voice shaking. She pressed her hands to his dear face, wanting to laugh and cry and kiss him breathless all at once. "Thorin. Thorin, my great heart." 

"Your heart," he agreed in such a voice, and kissed her so softly, so achingly softly that she trembled in his arms, a small half-sob escaping her. He tightened his arms around her, solid and comforting, and the joy of her epiphany still shaking her, she hitched two more sobbing breaths before adding her own tender, fierce kisses, murmuring his name between. Thorin whispered to her in Khuzdul, clearly words of affection and approval. Billa realized as his hand came up to cradle the back of her head, that his hands were shaking. She kissed him once more, then drew him into a hug, her chin over his shoulder. 

"I have a question," she said, when she could find her voice. 

"Speak, my love." 

"What happens if I....wish to progress our courtship further?" She was proud that her voice was mostly, slightly even. "Do we marry right away?" 

"We would marry when you are ready, Billa," he replied, his own voice unsteady. "Just as we wait to see if you wish to accept my proposal. We would still be courting, but. Certain. Betrothed." 

"That's what we do, too, though weddings are usually midsummer, so it's implied." She took a deep breath. "I know you want me to wait, to know you further, but, Thorin," Billa leaned back and took his face in her hands again. "You are my heart. And I am yours." 

"Billa," he searched her face and took a deep, unsteady breath. "Billa." 

"Yes, my heart," she said in a soft, strong voice. "I wish to be by your side, always.” She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “I wish you know your mind, to hear your opinions.” He inhaled sharply, a deep tremor running through him. She kissed his eyelids. “I wish to see the world through your eyes.” 

Billa leaned back to look at him, take in his bright eyes, his amazed, joyful expression. “Am I right so far?”

“Billa, pearl, _how_.....” 

“There have been hints, here and there. Pieces that began to fit together. And…” she gave him a gently chiding, teasing look. “You kissed me like that yesterday; forehead, eyes, cheeks, mouth. Quite early on, if I recall correctly. You _did_ propose twice.” 

He gave her an apologetic glance. “ _Technically_ , that formal proposal has the words - almost exactly as you have spoken them - and two more gestures beyond the kisses,” Thorin confessed. “When I kissed you….it was as natural as breathing, Billa. I did not realize until after what I had done, and felt the right of it.” 

“My people may have formalized it, but it seems to be to be built around an impulse that rises from deep within the heart. It’s why I was so sure when I gave you that bouquet and learned what it meant. I am done ignoring what my heart tells me, especially when it seems the Valar themselves seek to open our eyes. I am done with it. It brought nothing but pain to us both.” 

Billa leaned forward and kissed him softly, her hands slipping from his face, down his chest to rest gently over his heart. “My heart is yours, Thorin Oakenshield. And when I puzzle out the rest of that proposal, and I am very good at puzzles, I will be ready to counter yours, and I will call for you to be my husband.” 

Taking one of her hands, Thorin kissed the palm, placed it back over his heart, and covered it with his hand. He took a deep breath and looked at her from beneath his brow. “You will call?” 

Bravely keeping her head high despite her blush, Billa met his gaze squarely, and said in that same strong, soft voice. “My preference is for the simplest of your weddings, my heart. I know we must have ceremony later - “ 

Thorin leaned forward to take her mouth, and took the hand he held against his heart and used it to drape her arm around his neck. Billa wound her other arm around him as well, and answered his kiss with a deep, shaking sigh She still tasted of raspberries, had given him her heart, and it went to his head like mead, sweet with hidden strength. He gentled the kiss before their passion rose too high, and leaned his forehead against hers. 

“The simplest of weddings is my preference as well, Pearl. And on that night, I will be able to tell you why it moves me so when you name me your heart.” 

“I look forward to it.” 

He kissed her once more, then drew her into a hug with an aggrieved sigh. “Now we are betrothed, I have to rethink your braids for the day.” 

Billa began to giggle, and leaned back to look at him. “Shall I fetch my horn pins?” She moved as if to rise, and he stilled her with heavy hands at her waist. 

“Do you set me a challenge?” 

She stared at him a moment, eyes dancing with mischief. “Why do I hear the echo of a certain _word_ at the end of that question?” 

He leaned forward to brush his lips against hers. “Can you blame me for thinking it so loudly, Billa?” he murmured, his voice husking low. “You have said yes. You have said you will call for me to be your husband.” He brushed his lips against hers again, feather light, and stroked her nose, her cheek with his, lazy, barely nuzzling touches. 

“Secrets, traditions of my people fall from your lips as if they have always rested within you. How can I not yearn for you to find your answers, puzzle master? I wish to name you mine. I will not speak the word again until you _are_ mine. In full.” 

“Thorin.” Billa’s hands were fisted in his shirt, and she was trembling, swaying in his arms. He brushed his lips against hers one final time, and her mouth parted beneath his, lower lip brushing against his softly. Thorin leaned in slightly, and they met in the smallest, sweetest of kisses, lips barely clinging, and then again, slightly deeper. 

Their kisses built slowly, gently, a tender, aching conversation of waiting and desire and love. The fullness of her heart trembled against his lips, humbly offered, slightly nervous, and he tried to answer with all the love and comfort and strength that he could, offering the best of himself as a safe place for her to rest. 

“My heart,” she whispered as they parted, love clear in her eyes. 

“Your heart,” he agreed, gazing at the treasure of his life. He stroked her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bouquet translation: (Note I am using, like, five different language of flowers glossaries, the INCONSISTENT THINGS, and cherry picking to suit my needs. Because I can.) 
> 
> Morning/Mug bouquet: Periwinkle; happy memories + honeysuckle; bonds of love + dark pink roses = I am grateful for the happy memories of our courting dinner/Thank you for last night.
> 
> Honestly, y'all, this chapter is another character revolt. I had something compleeeetely different planned. I went with it. Longer chapter with more!plot! soon!


	8. Of Songs and Braids and Gems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for braids, and gemcraft and going downstairs. And things! And stuff. And some smooching to tide you over while we move the plot along next chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this ready forever, and realized it was just going to be too long for the next half of the chapter, which will, as I said, move the story along and out of Beorn's and therefore be less lovey-dovey. 
> 
> ~~~~

Both of them ignored that Billa had come out to breakfast with her hair neatly combed, and Thorin spent a few pleasant moments gently running the comb down the whole, long fall of her hair. Billa finally drank her tea, hoping to keep herself from slipping into a blissful doze.

She smiled, feeling golden and dreamy, and remembered mornings like this with her mother. Thorin’s tender care of her in this way was so like that, and yet so wonderfully different. 

He did something that felt beautiful and complex that pulled her hair - save for her courting braid - away from her face and left a good deal of it cascading down her back. He’d left one small bit hanging free next to her right ear, and when he turned her to face him in order to complete the front braid, he gave her a small, sweet smile. 

“You have a lovely voice,” he murmured. Billa stared at him. 

“Oh, I didn't realize I was...” She blushed. Thorin leaned down to brush his nose against hers. 

“No blushes, little songbird. Are there words to go with the lovely tune you were humming?” 

“No, not yet...I..it was just something that came to me while you combed my hair. She pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks. “That hasn’t happened in a while.” 

“What?” Thorin finished off her braid, set the end bead and rubbed his hands soothingly up and down her arms. “Creating music? I overheard you discussing writing poetry once with Ori. Do you have the craft of songwriting as well?” 

“I don’t have any training, but I used to make up little songs when I was young. With my mother. Something we did together. I think it started when I was small, and she needed something to keep me occupied while she combed my hair. And she would sing with me, just fun little things. Our voices were very similar, so harmonizing was really lov-" The memory, and sudden, keen grief for her mother caught in her throat for a moment, and she paused for a steadying breath. “Father couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, but could keep rhythm, and sometimes he would come and tap on whatever to accompany us. ” 

He stroked her cheek tenderly with his knuckles. “At your home, were those pictures of them on your mantle?” Billa nodded. "Then I know what faces to put with such a memory. May I sing with you when you hum, or would you keep that memory of them whole?” 

“Oh, Thorin, I would very much like to make new memories with you, love, though my voice is not as fine -” 

Thorin put a gentle finger to her lips. “It may be untrained, but yours is fine voice, Billa. Truth, before you test me, not flattery. Warm and resonant like a cello when you sing in your heart voice.” He touched her chest, just below the notch of her collarbone. “Still warm and sweet with when you sing higher, in the voice of your spirit, and without a jar or break when transitioning between the two, which is quite good. Not all can do that smoothly, so choose to sing in one voice or the other to hide the flaw.” 

“You got all that from just me humming?” 

“Yes, though I would someday like to hear you sing fully.” With the same gesture he used to touch her cheek, he stroked down her throat to touch her breastbone lightly, just above the neckline of her shift. 

“I like that you use your heart voice. Many think that beauty in song can only be found for females to sing in high spirit voices, where none but the youngest of males may reach. But...I think a heart voice like yours...it sounds like where it came from, the heart, and full of warmth and and your generous nature. All I would add is a bit of strength to your breathing, to give you more endurance and volume. You do a great deal, it seems, by instinct, but with a little extra power, you could enchant a whole room.” 

A little flustered, Billa swallowed hard. “I’d like to sing with just you for now. I’ve sung, of course, with friends in groups for fun but never alone...and never my own tunes. Not for anyone but family." 

“I don’t mean to push,” he assured her softly. “We sing a great deal, for entertainment, for memory and celebration, or just to pass the time traveling. I would be honored to be your audience, your duet partner or both, for as long as you wish.” 

She sat, her eyes downcast for a long moment, her hand stroking over Thorin’s heart, suddenly fighting tears. 

He took her hand in his and held them together over his heart. He brushed her cheek where one tear had fallen. “My pearl, have I hurt you?" 

She hastened to assure him, thought she couldn’t quite look at him yet, suspecting a kind glance could undo her. “Quite the opposite. Building new memories with you, seeing the world from your eyes. It is...it is…my heart is full of you, my love.” Her breath caught and she struggled to calm it. “Singing again...” 

“Did you stop?” he asked gently. Billa nodded. 

“When Mother died. Father died first, after the Fell Winter and she just...faded. I sang to her to try to keep her interested, keep her with me, and after... the pain was just too sharp to sing alone.” 

“Pearl,” he breathed, pulled her close, brushed the tears from her cheeks and kissed both gently. Thankfully, he didn’t ask for an explanation about the Fell Winter, for which she was grateful. “I didn’t play for a long while after my mother passed, and then the dragon came, and my harp was left behind. I did not seek another for decades. I think I understand.” 

“You do. I don’t mean to cry, or be sad,” Billa said, looking at him, smiling through her tears. “I am so _glad_ to share this with you. I am so glad to learn with you and from you. I treasure it. And being happy enough, feeling a sense of _home_ enough to sing…” 

Thorin smiled at her, and as always, the sight of him truly happy was like sun breaking through clouds. “Home,” he said, his voice deep and rich with pleasure. 

Billa huffed. “Well, if we do this thing right, you will be home to me, no matter where we are.” 

“Just so. Just so,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her cheeks gently. “I love to see the world through your eyes. And am honored to share your tears.” 

“Me, too.” 

“Two worlds and two hearts to learn," he murmured, leaning in to nuzzle her cheek one last time. "And a long journey to blend them.” 

“And apparently more than two crafts as you are teaching me of gems, statecraft and singing. And I may have to teach you cooking after all,” Billa teased. 

He groaned. “I beg you, not in the kitchen with the sheep. I'd rather cook around the campfire brave Bombur's battle ladle. And did I agree on the statecraft? I think I recall mentioning it was very dull.” 

“Am I not going to need to learn about your people? Our people?” 

“Our. I like the sound of that.” He rubbed her arms approvingly. “My queen.” 

Billa closed her eyes tightly. “Shh, I’m not thinking about that part, yet. It makes me feel faint.” 

“I promise to catch you.” Thorin stroked her nose with his, and when she turned into the touch, stole a small, chaste kiss. 

Billa smiled as she opened her eyes. “Hmm, well, there’s that.” 

“Shall I tell you about the gems and metals in your beads?” 

Billa took a deep breath and smiled. “Much less apt to cause lightheadedness.” 

“Here,” he took one of the beads they did not use out of the pouch, one that matched the bead in his courtship braid, though much larger, of the size some of the company wore in their beards. “First, the metals. Gold for comfort, understanding, abundance and being in tune with the earth.” 

“And you tease me about the multiple meanings of flowers.” 

Thorin darted her a small grin. “Point taken,” he murmured. “And this, the silver-colored, is our most precious metal, true-silver, the common use name has fallen on the elvish mithril, but our sacred name for it is _sanzigil_. It is stronger than steel, flexible, light, and remains ever-bright. It stands for purity, and strength, unconditional protection. Everlasting love.” He said the last looking into Billa’s eyes and it gave her another warm flush of joy. 

“The moonstones are gems of balance between heart and mind, new beginnings and nurturing. Often associated with females because of your power to bring forth life, but also the transformative power of love. And also,” he said, giving her braid a gentle tug. “All qualities good for gardeners.” Billa grinned at him.

“And the last, sapphires, blue for the color of the house of Durin, and a symbol of divine favor. They have the qualities of a good ruler, or a good spouse. Protection, wisdom, truth. Sincerity. Faithfulness.” 

“So when someone gives a gift of metals and stones like this, what does it mean?” 

“A bit like with flowers, with a few differences. The metals are literally and figuratively the setting; what the giver wishes to offer. The gems represent what he sees in his beloved.” 

Billa reached out and touched Thorin’s courting braid. “Did they agree on a motif and materials when they made the beads? They were quite different from the other beads in your pouch.”

Thorin smiled and shook his head. “Well spotted. The difference is one of the things I love most about them, that they saw the same qualities in one another, and sought to offer the same gifts of themselves. My mother's family had come to trade and visit, as my grandfathers knew one another of old. My parents chose flowers as the motif because they first felt the call of their One that summer, standing on a terrace looking over a field of wildflowers covering the slope of the mountain, and it was there they first spoke alone. My father said my mother laughed and laughed when she first saw her beads, thinking that somehow he’d found out about her design. But it rose in both their hearts to refer to that day.” 

Billa took the bead to turn it over in her hands, marveling over the detail. “That’s so lovely, to know the history. I shall treasure them all the more.” 

“I also cherish these beads, because I would have chosen the same stones for you, with the addition of pearls.” 

“What do pearls mean?” 

“Purity, integrity, strength, honesty and wisdom. They are said to aid increasing the wearer’s wisdom, as well. They are also associated with females and transformation, sisters from the sea to moonstones, though far more precious, and are said to lift the spirit.” He took the hand not holding the bead and kissed her palm, lingering. “As you have lifted mine.” 

Billa made a soft, longing sound. “If you give me the language of gems in such a voice, my heart, I will never be able to remember the meanings.” 

“Voice?” 

“When you speak low to me, your... heart voice from deep in your chest, all midnight, velvet and thunder, I can hardly think.” 

Thorin inhaled sharply and clasping her arms, gently lifted her until they were nearly nose to nose. “If you treasure my family's history, if you stare at my mouth so when I speak or gaze at me with such love in your eyes, how can my voice not betray my desire?” he said, his own eyes firmly on her lips. 

“How shall I learn then?” Billa teased, nearly breathless. “Shall we stand back to back in a darkened room? That would make it a bit difficult to show me the gems.” 

“If we were in a darkened room, I would not be standing still at your back, Billa,” he said, his voice rasping deep. Billa and shivered, a throb of desire and longing blossoming low in her belly, and running through her veins, molten and slow. Thorin leaned forward and brushed her nose with his, fanning the fire in her, then caressed her cheek as she quivered in his hands, a breathy mewl escaping her, and when her head fell back, her breath unsteady, he slowly nuzzled beneath her ear, down her neck, nose and lips barely grazing her skin. 

“I have not seen you thus, yet,” he said, an ache in his voice. “You have trembled before as I kissed you, but never before my eyes.” His breath was ragged as he leaned his forehead against hers. “So beautiful, to see your desire. Shining, my pearl.” 

“Thorin,” Billa breathed, trembling anew, grasping at his arms for balance. 

“We should go downstairs,” he said, as if someone were tearing the words from his throat.

“We should.” She paused. “But, I don’t think I could stand at the moment.” 

Thorin chuckled low in his throat. “Nor I, without embarrassment.” 

“Oh, I’m..” 

“Shhh,” he said, folding her into his arms. “Never apologize for the gift of your desire, my pearl. I treasure it even as I burn.” 

“I treasure yours as well.” 

“It will make our joining all the sweeter,” he whispered in her ear. 

Shivering, Billa tugged his hair and whispered back, “And I was just about able to kiss you without losing my head. Apparently gemstones make me lightheaded after all.” 

He laughed and kissed her forehead, and then, after a considering pause, her eyelids, cheeks and just before he kissed her mouth, she darted in and kissed his, laughing. 

“Are you proposing _again?_ ” 

“Simply reminding you my intentions are honorable,” he replied, far, far too innocently.

“Mmmhmm.” She leaned back to look at him. “Is that mischief in your eyes I see?” The word “husband” suddenly hung in the air, as clearly as if it had been spoken. Thorin’s eyes went smoky and dark, and his hands tightened on her, tugging her closer, until his lips were a breath away from hers, restrained passion in every line of his body. Billa trembled, causing her mouth to brush against his, and he groaned softly. 

“I long to hear you name me thus,” he murmured, voice rough and aching. He pressed his forehead to hers, took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “I should not kiss you now....I....Pearl....my pearl.” 

“Yours,” Billa breathed, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She stroked his hair and cupped the back of his head tenderly, and a few moments later, he relaxed in her arms, letting out a shuddering breath. They stayed that way, gently holding one another, for several long minutes. 

“I think I’m going to go splash some cold water on my face before I head downstairs,” Billa offered quietly. 

Thorin kissed her shoulder. “A fine idea. I’ll gather the dishes and do the same.” They both sighed as they parted. 

Billa framed Thorin’s face with her hands and gave him a gentle kiss. “My heart, thank you for breakfast.” 

“My pleasure.” They both smiled at the innuendo in his comment. Billa rolled her eyes. 

“And mine as well,” she replied, laughter in her voice. With a great deal of willpower, she offered another gentle kiss, rose and made her way to her room without looking back. Once inside she fell against the door and pressed her hands to her cheeks, her bosom, her belly as if to settle her longing as she ached for him. It was a good thing, she thought, that she didn’t have the full puzzle of the formal dwarf proposal solved. Not yet. But soon. 

And she was sure he’d given her one more hint. 

~~~~

Thorin collapsed against his door and knocked his head a few times against the hard wood. She was so beautiful, so lush and sweet in his arms, and _seeing_ the signs of her desire… he dropped his head back, allowing himself a soft groan, and began to recite his favorite diversionary tactic; precious metals and their alloys. 

He had taken his pleasure from his own hand before bed and when he woke, and here he was again, not two hours from waking, ready for her and eager as a youth, and very likely to spend in his pants _like_ an untried youth if he did not find better control. He ran through the list one last time. 

Another moment, and he was laughing at himself, because truly, he had no cause to complain. He had found his One, who one day would be truly his, and she was beautiful, clever, brave, and incredibly passionate. He set the dishes down, crossed to the washstand, splashed water on his face, dried it, and made for the door, thinking of her sleepy morning smile. He leaned against the door and beat his head against it one last time; he’d forgotten the dishes in his distraction. Turning back, he collected them. 

There was a tentative knock on the door. “Thorin? Dearest, are you all right?” 

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He thought she was going downstairs after a quick trip to her room. 

“Very fine, my pearl.” 

“It’s just. I heard.” He could hear her clear her throat. “Is the door stuck?” 

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door, to find her standing before him, a pink rose tucked behind her ear and the mugs in her hands. 

“I went back for a rose,” she explained, blushing mightily. “You forgot the…” she held up the mugs, flustered. “I heard...thumps...I do know you don't like a fuss, but…as your wi-...as your betrothed, I was..." She stopped herself, took a breath and smiled. "I was concerned." 

Thorin’s eyebrows had shot up with delight as she fumbled over her words and he decided, if they were both going to be embarrassed…..

“I was trying to knock some...calm into myself,” he confessed, giving her a rueful smile. 

“Oh. _Oh._ ” She nodded, blushing further, and swallowed hard. Thorin felt the blood rush to his own face and beyond, to his ears, which blazed with heat. He cleared his throat. 

“Apparently you’re not the only one who needs to work on their endurance,” he said, and determined not to apologize for his desire, looked her firmly in the eye. 

Billa’s eyes flew wide and her lips folded inward as she gave a tiny snort, then her shoulders began to shake, and finally, a greater snort of laughter burst out. Thorin ducked his head and grinned at her, allowing his embarrassment to show, which only made her laugh harder. 

“My face?” 

She nodded, frantically. “Oh my heart,” she breathed, trying to wipe her eyes on her sleeve. “Oh dearest one, when you opened the door, your _poor face._ ” 

Balancing the dishes in one hand, he walked to her, and brushed the tears from her cheeks. “My poor face has caused more tears.” 

“Of laughter, you silly.” 

“I am honored to share both kinds,” he said softly, and leaned in carefully for a kiss, mindful of the crockery, and added a kiss to her cheek. Her eyes were warm and sharp when he withdrew, and he felt confident his clue had found its’ mark. Now all he had to do was figure out how to set clues for rest of the proposal. 

Not that he was rushing. Merely helping. 

“Shall we, Miss Baggins?” 

“If you’re sure your ears are not in danger. I have some cool tea here….” 

He gazed down at her, terribly happy. “So mean. My poor face is wounded.” 

“I’ll tell you a secret,” she said, bouncing up on her toes. He leaned down again, and she tugged on his courting braid and brushed the hair away from his ear. She kissed it and whispered. “Your poor face is beloved above all other faces, as are these poor ears.” With another kiss, she released him and left him frozen. 

“Billa,” he murmured, his heart filled with a sense of belonging. _Home._ She looked at him, both joyful and serious. 

“Come,” she said softly. “Before nephews or sheep coming looking for us.” 

“Are you claiming them as nephews already?”

“Now who is being mean? They are dear lads, they really are, but the thought of being their auntie makes my head swim worse than the....you know.” 

"Wedding night?" 

She rolled her eyes, "No, I'm fairly sure you'll be there, which helps put my nerves to rest."'

For her to say such so fondly, so confident of him that she could tease, caught him so in the heart he had to struggle to keep his voice light. "It is my honor, duty and pleasure to come to your aid, my pearl." 

"I am much comforted." She seemed to catch his deeper feelings, and smiled at him with soft joy, then in a blink was his mischievous love again. "Much comforted. Do put it on your calendar, will you?" 

Thorin stopped on his stair and pitched his voice low. "And when might that be?" 

"Well, I don't know," she drawled, stopping beside him and giving him a look brimful of humor, her color high and gorgeous. She stepped down the last few steps, turned and gave him an arched-browed grin. "Depends a bit on how heavily you drop hints, doesn't it? Though hardly a puzzle that way..." 

He watched her stroll toward the kitchen, hips swaying, before he remembered he was heading the same direction, and used his longer legs to catch up, gritting his teeth at the pull to his ribs. 

"Thorin!" Gandalf appeared out of nowhere, twinkling with cheer, and blocking way to Billa. Thorin's first impulse was to ram him in the gut and continue on, but that was hardly proper, politic or rational. And there were witnesses, as he was sure the old gossips at the table were watching his every move. 

"Wizard. Have you news?" 

Gandalf's face sobered. "I do, and far less joyous than yours," he replied, and clapped him gently on the shoulder. "I hear you are courting Billa. I am very happy for you, my friend." 

It was on the tip of his tongue to make a barbed remark about friends not disappearing halfway through a quest they instigated, and from the look on Gandalf's face, he knew it. Sighing, Thorin replied stiffly, "I thank you. I am most fortunate. She is..." He floundered for words he'd care to share with the wizard. 

Gandalf gave him a gentle look. "Yes, she is. And I am glad you know it." 

Of all the condescending...Thorin was about to give Gandalf the rough side of his tongue when a familiar bleat sounded next to him. He turned slightly, and Billa's chaperone came close to point her nose at the dishes in his hands. 

"If you wouldn't mind," he found himself saying. With a pleased sounding baa, she offered her back, and he carefully placed the dishes in it. "My thanks, friend," he murmured, and she turned to nudge her nose under his hand. Blinking, he scratched her ears as he'd seen Billa do, and with a final bleat, she trotted off. 

"Friend of yours?" Gandalf said mildly. 

"Of Billa's," he said before he could curb his tongue. "She couldn't stand me yesterday."

"There seems to be a good bit of that going around." The old fool replied loftily and swept off. Thorin clenched his fists and recited metals and their alloys before he could blurt out that Billa had liked him all along, thank you. _Wizards._

Stifling a sigh, he glanced toward the kitchen and found Billa peering around the edge of the door, grinning with glee. He held out his hand and she came to him. 

“Saving me again?” 

“Always. You looked like you wanted to bite Gandalf.” 

He kissed her hand and drew her to stand around the corner from the main hall for a bit of privacy. “He was keeping me from you.” 

“Flattery.” 

“Oh, truth, definitely truth. Thank you.” 

“My pleasure.” 

“Now, you have me curious. What was it that makes your head swim worse than being an aunt?” 

Her grin dropped and she gave him an earnest, concerned look. “Queen. Or will I be a consort? I...I realized I might have assumed, earlier.” 

“You will be both. Apprehensive because you don’t know what that might entail?” 

_“Yes.”_

“Chiefly, I shall look to you as an extra set of eyes, ears and a different perspective. Sit with me today as we discuss the next stages of the journey. Please. It is your right both as my intended and our burglar to be there.” He leaned down to whisper. “We will start small, plant things which grow quickly.” 

She ducked her head, smiling at his reference.“I will do my best to grow into the role, if you’re _desperate_ for a hobbit’s opinion.” 

“Am I going to regret the invitation?” 

“Am I not your pearl?” she replied pertly, and leaned into his shoulder. “Naturally irritating?” 

He kissed her forehead, smiling. “I would not have you any other way.” 

Someone yelped, and they turned to find Kili standing a few paces away, his hand clapped over his eyes. 

“Coming to breakfast?” he asked, his voice strained. 

“Mmm, a second breakfast sounds lovely,” Billa said, laughter in her voice. “You can look now, Kili.” 

“I’m not sure I can,” he said. 

“Kili.” 

“Yes, Uncle.” he said instantly, removing his hand. Giving them a scandalized nod, he turned on his heel. 

They shared a conspiring grin, Thorin offered his arm with a slight bow, which Billa took, and arm and arm, they began the rest of their day, together. 

 

~~~


	9. Of Plans and Training and Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stepping a toe or two into deeper, darker water, my dears, as Billa, Thorin, Gandalf and the company plan the next bit of the journey. Billa begins sword training, and she and Thorin deal with some of the effects of the fight with the orcs at the edge of Goblin Town. 
> 
> Trigger warning: mention of a dream consistent with PTSD, no graphic imagery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going with movie canon regarding Gandalf's motives/timeline of figuring things out, based on Radagast's fight with the wraith and vision of the Necromancer, and the White Council meeting. I know it's not strictly canon, but that's what Pete, Phillipa and Fran came up with. I am not a Tolkein scholar, I'm afraid, although I'm trying my best not to butcher too much, I will be taking considerable liberties with this rewrite. You know, like making Bilbo a female. ;) 
> 
> Thanks to Kitrazzle, Tygermama and Amali for handholding and beta work.

The appearance of betrothal beads in Thorin and Billa’s hair caused a jovial uproar, the cheer of which lasted through most of breakfast. Most notable reactions were Kili’s, who as ever, whimpered and looked everywhere but at them when Thorin made the slightest affectionate gesture, and Fili who was as smug and pleased as a cat with a bowl of cream. 

Filli had also taken it upon himself to make sure Billa’s mug was filled with tea, that the scones and clotted cream were passed her way often and that she had first right to the raspberry jam. It was done subtly, and with familial affection. She stared at him for a moment, and he ducked his head, smiling, and shrugged. Billa turned curious eyes to Thorin, who had a fond, almost wistful look on his face. 

He bent forward and whispered in her ear. “He does the same for my sister, and I suspect I’ll have to fight him tend to you. And Kili, too, once he gets over the vapors.” 

Billa’s brows shot up, even as she giggled at the picture of Kili as a swooning maiden. “I am a grown hobbit,” she reminded him. “Not a babe that needs looking after.” 

Thorin’s eyes flickered down her body and back, a glance that only lasted a second but sent a thrill through her nonetheless. “Undoubtedly not a babe,” he murmured, “But a treasure to us. If you’d be so kind as to allow a bit of doting?” 

“Hmmm,” she mused, eyeing him sidelong. “Will any of this doting allow me to sleep later?” 

“No,” he drawled. “But,” he continued, looking over her head at Fili. “It may mean on occasion having a bit more time with your tea to wake up.” 

“Absolutely,” Fili said stoutly. “It’s a painful thing to see, watching you stumble around.” 

“There was a day I thought she was going to pitch into the fire,” Kili confessed. “I’d be happy to help pick up the slack to let her _stay still_ until she’s fully awake.” 

“Should have done that long ago,” Dwalin growled into his mug. Billa blushed. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said, embarrassed. “I’ve never been an early riser.” 

“It’s all right,” Fili said kindly. “You tried very hard. And you’ve got family to look after you, now.” 

Billa’s breath caught in her throat, and she took a swig of tea to cover the prickling of tears in her eyes. “I suppose I do,” she said, her voice unsteady. Thorin rubbed her back gently. 

“So, you’ll allow us - all of us - to dote on you a bit? Just a bit.” Fili asked, his gaze casual as he doctored a scone to his liking not doing well to hide a thing. He reminded Billa of his uncle so in that moment. 

“And twice on Mersdays,” Kili said cheekily. 

“I’m calling Mersdays,” Thorin rumbled. “As is my right. And any other time I deem fit.” 

“Of course,” Fili said, and lowered his voice to confide to Billa. “Mersdays is when he reads to our amad, when he’s home, while she does handwork.” 

“Of course.” Kili agreed. 

“Might I point out I’ve not said yes, yet?” Inside, Billa was crowing with delight to see Thorin so playful and openly affectionate in front of the company and with his nephews. It was good for everyone to see that, in her opinion. Kili and Fili got their most pathetic looks out of their arsenal. 

Billa glanced up at Thorin, who was looking at her with such merry tenderness that she wanted to kiss him silly. He seemed to catch her sentiment and glanced at her mouth. His hand tightened at her waist. 

“Aren’t you going to need that hand to eat with?” She murmured. 

“It depends on what I’m having for breakfast,” he countered. Billa flushed from head to toe, and Thorin gave her a lazy, sensual glance. She wanted to sway into his arms. 

“Kili, for Mahal’s sake, they’re not kissing, you can uncover your eyes.” 

“No, but they have that _look_ , that _tone_. It’s unsettling.” 

“Don’t make me dunk you two in the trough outside,” Dwalin rumbled. 

“I’d like to see you try,” Thorin said, his hot gaze turned to ice. Dwalin snorted. 

“Thought that might break things up.” 

Thorin gazed at Dwalin, then pointedly at Ori, who was talking to his brother, and raised his eyebrows. Dwalin, the top of his head and his ears glowing bright red, growled and viciously attacked a scone with some butter. 

“I’ll allow _some_ doting,” Billa said firmly. “With the condition that you leave off when I say. I’m not much used to such….”

“Spoiling?” Kili asked, looking scandalized again. 

“Tending?” Fili ventured gently. 

“Kindness,” Thorin said quietly, clearly thinking of his own deeds, and took her hand under the table. “We’ll soon fix that. And _not_ be overwhelming,” he added, glaring at his nephews. He turned his gaze back on Billa. “For every slight….” 

“I remember,” she replied softly. She raised her voice so the lads could hear. “Thank you, all of you. I’ve been on my own quite a long time...” 

“And high time you were with folk who value you, I should think,” Gandalf said cheerfully. He shot completely unsubtle significant glances to Thorin and the rest of the company. 

“So you’ll pardon me if I get a bit flustered or snappish from too much attention, but I thank you. You’ve all been so kind this morning, I’m not used to such fuss, but you’re very kind,” she said, equally cheerful, with a significant look right back at Gandalf, who merely twinkled at her and pursed his lips. 

Once reminded of Gandalf's presence, Thorin's merry mood was at an end, and Billa felt his tension, his impatience, and the rather obvious dislike of Gandalf taking the head of the table, wind ever tighter. He looked to be attempting to set Gandalf’s beard on fire with his gaze, and if given much longer, might succeed. It did not seem to put Gandalf off his breakfast one bit. 

She took advantage one of Bofur’s louder stories to nudge Thorin with her knee, and when he didn’t stir, tucked her hand in his elbow and nudged him again. He started slightly, and bent to look at her, his expression changing from glower to soft smile so quickly is was nearly dizzying. 

“Hello,” she said quietly, flushing at the tenderness in his gaze. 

“Hello,” he replied and covered her hand with his. 

“I have been told ‘a wizard is never late,’” she quoted. “‘He arrives precisely when he means to.’ I think that might also be true of conversations with wizards.” 

Thorin sighed. “A timely reminder.” He sighed again “Might I offer you some fresh raspberries, Miss Baggins?” 

“That would be very fine, your majesty.” He turned to drag a bowl of berries closer, and nodded at Fili to pass the scones and cream their way. 

“Might I make a suggestion, dearest?” 

“Of course.” Thorin raised his eyebrows.

“I think the conversation would go more smoothly if you were a mite more calm.” 

He seemed to swell with anger, his eyes flashing. “He is leaving us on the threshold of Mirkwood, when our path grows ever more dangerous.” 

Billa met his gaze squarely. “It has always been dangerous, my love. And, I have found if I start a conversation with my ears stopped with anger and my tongue ready to be sharp with someone, I can’t hear what they’re saying, so focused on why they’re wrong. And that always lands me in a spot of trouble.” 

Thorin gritted his teeth for a moment, his hand covering hers again, breathing hard through his nose, clearly seeking to master his temper. All at once, he lifted her hand to kiss and sighed, his anger running out of him. 

“You are right. You are right, _ghivashel_. I will listen with more open ears,” he looked at her, rueful. “I do not think I can let _all_ my anger go, but I will try. He put us on this path, supplied the key and…”

“And I would not leave you were the situation not most dire,” Gandalf said, voice loud enough to cut through the noise of the company. 

"And what situation is that?” 

“You recall Radagast?” 

“Vividly.” Several of the company snorted. “A bit addled-seeming, but did us a great service.” 

“That he did, and yes, I would agree with your assessment; quite eccentric, but good in a pinch.” Gandalf gave them a slightly pained smile. “When we met, he brought something to me, something very troubling.” He subsided for a moment, and took a long sip from his mug.

“Gandalf,” Thorin said with barely-tethered patience. “Do not draw this out.” 

“It is not deliberate,” Gandalf confessed. “I. I find it very hard to talk about.” His face seemed to grow older as he spoke. “We have failed, you see, and missed something very dangerous, and I am afraid…” 

“Failed? How have we…” 

“Oh no, no, I apologize, I do not mean _you_ or the company have failed, no, not at all. I mean _I_ have failed, the White Council has failed, and it may…” 

“Gandalf,” Billa said kindly, her heart going out to him, for the old fellow, under his kind bluster, seemed quite distressed. “Just _tell us_.” 

He took a deep breath, and looked at the table. “There is something in the Mirkwood, poisoning it, that we knew, but more, there are rumors of a necromancer, who has set himself up in Dol Guldur, at the southern end of the wood, and….” 

“Necromancer?” Óin scoffed, a wee bit too loud. “There’s no such thing!” 

“I know you have studied well, Master Óin, to decipher prophecies and other ancient lore, and I thought no such thing was possible either, until...” He traced a finger on the wood grain of the table, then straightened himself visibly. 

“Radagast, keeping an eye on the eastern forests as he does, could see that whatever rank thing that poisons Mirkwood progresses, is more aggressive, and went to investigate. One of the creatures he cares for fell ill, and he drew a black, foul smoke from it’s lungs and diffused it, clearly magic, for it responded to no other remedy. He followed a trail of death and decay to Dol Guldur. There, he was attacked by a wraith, a thing like white smoke and no substance, most definitely no longer a man.”

“No longer?” Fili asked, looking taken aback. “How do you know it once was?” 

“Because, when it fought Radagast, and when Radagast disarmed it, it had been fighting with a Morgul blade, in particular the blade wielded by the Witch-King of Angmar, who once lived in the halls of Dol Guldur. And was buried there. With that sword. The sword Radagast brought to me, and I brought it to the White Council.” 

“That is why you insisted on stopping at Rivendell,” Thorin growled. “To meet with Elrond and the others.” 

“Yes, and to help you with your quest as well, Thorin,” he said gently. “We would not know what the map said…” 

“Yes, yes, you made your point there,” Thorin waved a hand impatiently. “So, your White Council has sent you with orders elsewhere?” 

“No, actually,” Gandalf said, somewhat diminished. “I go on my own to meet Radagast. Only Galadriel, the lady of Lothlorien, understood the severity of the problem, for it was she who knew the sword at a glance, and confirmed it had been buried with the Witch-King, deep into the earth. Elrond and Saruman, the head of my order, insisted that we were still enjoying the 400 years of peace we have had since the defeat of Sauron, and thought the evidence was far too little for any action. But…” 

“But?” Billa prompted. 

“I am seeing too many disturbing signs, my dear Billa, as has Radagast. The trolls so far down from the mountains, the orcs we’ve encountered. The ever-growing blight on Mirkwood,the Witch-King’s wraith and his blade, and worse, the dark figure Radagast could not catch a good glimpse of, clearly a thing steeped in magic…. an almost man-shape cloaked in shadows,” he stroked his beard a long moment. 

“That is why I asked you to leave Rivendell so suddenly,” he confessed. “I knew that my meeting with the council would go far into the night, because, well….I did expect some resistance, and I knew the moment they turned from that subject to your quest, Thorin, that they would try to hamper you in some way, and I did not think that was right. It is _your_ right to reclaim your home if you can.” 

“You are being quite candid with us, wizard, when you normally speak in riddles,” Thorin said quietly, his voice like a distant roll of thunder. Billa tensed. 

“I feel it only fair at this juncture, to let you know how valuable your quest is, and not just for your people. Sauron may have been defeated, but deep shadows still lie in Mordor, and there are growing shadows here, and that troubles me. And if evil resides in Dol Guldur,” he looked up at Thorin with piercing eyes. “It is more important than ever that Erebor is regained, and that dragon _gone_.” 

Thorin curled his fists on the table and leaned back in his chair, regarding Gandalf with half-hooded eyes. “For a dragon would be a mighty weapon if allied with evil,” he said, and this time, his voice put up gooseflesh on Billa’s arms. “You said something of that to Lord Elrond.” 

Billa winced. 

Gandalf pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. “If you overheard that, you also overheard me telling Elrond I thought it was a mistake to even _attempt_ to impede your quest.” 

“We did,” Thorin gestured with one hand to Billa. “And I have wondered ever since, was this your design all along? To send us to slay the dragon to have a stronghold in the east for you and your White Council, a council made up of naught but _elves_ and _wizards?_ ” 

“I want you to reclaim your home, Thorin,” Gandalf said gently. “You have every right.” 

Thorin’s fist crashed on the table. “I also have a right to know if I am - if my people are - pawns in your game of kingdoms, Gandalf. Are we just convenient fodder for your schemes?” 

“I would never call the line of Durin _fodder_ , Thorin Oakenshield.” 

“Then the broken end of a broken line, and no matter if we are consumed in dragon’s fire.” 

“You put words in my mouth, and not one of them is true," he snapped, his own temper showing. "It matters a very great deal It is not right that a dragon lies in the belly of your home, your majesty. You have every right to take it back, and I do not mean to send you in alone.” 

He drew himself up straight in his chair and fixed Thorin with a gaze full of conviction. “I have every intention of seeing to this matter in Dol Guldur _and_ being with you when you enter Erebor. I _want_ to be with you when you enter Erebor. In fact, I think I have to be. And I assure you, I am most flammable.” 

Thorin snorted and relaxed in his chair a bit. “I did not think you intended to return.” 

Gandalf looked at him for a long time. “You have my word that I will return as soon as possible, and will have my full aid.” 

A little half-smirk, not entirely bitter, graced Thorin’s face. “And after, it will take some time before you have your stronghold in the east, Game Master. What little I could see in my flight to get my people out that day, Smaug was not gentle to the mountain. There will be much to rebuild.” 

“I know,” Gandalf said, a breath of humor in his voice, eyes as blue and guileless as the sweetest of gaffers. “But there will be no dragon.” 

“Indeed.” Thorin breathed deeply. “We shall need provisions, take stock of what little we have remaining and hope our host can be generous with us. You truly think he will help us?” 

“I’m sure he will, once he confirms the Goblin King is dead.” Gandalf’s eyes were twinkling. “He really doesn’t care for goblins.” 

~~~~

“This is your official warning, your majesty,” Billa said as they headed for the porch. “I am going to put on my trousers.” 

Thorin put a hand over his heart. “I will prepare myself,” he said gravely.

She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and in the background, Kili let out a squawk. When she settled on her heels, her eyes gleamed with mischief. “What _did_ scandalize that lad?” 

He took up her palm to kiss. “I’ve no idea, but he’s going to have to bear up. And won’t we have a lovely time when he meets his One?” 

“Thorin Oakenshield, you evil thing.” She grinned at him. 

“Go, before I decide I must taste that smile.” She blushed beautifully. 

“Flirt.” She squeezed his hand and trotted upstairs. 

The trousers - and her in them - were exactly as distracting as he’d feared, he noted with an internal groan as she came down the stairs, a distinct sway in her step. His hands closed into fists unbidden, aching to touch, but he had a smile for her when she reached him, and offered his arm. 

He and Dwalin had arranged for her training a little way off from the rest of the group, so she’d have a bit of privacy. 

“Dwalin, son of Fundin, at your service and your family’s, my lady,” Dwalin said, and honored her with a full bow. 

Billa’s hand tightened on his elbow, and her smile was puzzled. “But we’ve done that bit, haven’t we?” she asked, a nervous laugh in her voice. “When you invaded my biscuit jar and my home?” 

“Aye, my lady, but that was a polite greeting. This?" His eyes were very serious. "Is a promise and acknowledgement of a debt. You did what I could not that night, and saved my king." 

"Dwalin, I..."

"Take the thanks as intended, lass," he growled, a hint of a smile in his eyes for those who knew how to look. 

She straightened her spine and her chin lifted proudly. "Thank you, Master Dwalin," she said firmly. "And as for saving Thorin, I'd normally say 'my pleasure,'" she shuddered. "Let us just say I'm glad to have helped and am pleased with the result." 

Dwalin snorted, and Thorin grinned. "As am I," he whispered for her ears alone, hand on the small of her back. 

"Oi!" Dwalin barked, pointing an axe at them. "There'll be no canoodling on my training pitch. We're here to work."

"Yes, Master Dwalin," Thorin murmured. Billa shot him a surprised glance. 

"He's in charge here," Thorin explained.

"And thinkin o'assigning some drills if you don't unhand my student! Y'can touch her for positioning as agreed, but I'll not have you distracting her."

"Understood." He stepped away.

"Now," Dwalin turned his gaze to Billa. "You can be sure I had my eyes on you when you attacked that orc; I'll tell you what you did right. After, I'll show you what you could do better. When I'm done with ye, you'll do better as easy as breathing." 

"Thank you, Master Dwalin." 

"Doesn't know that'll take daily drills, does she?" Dwalin gave him a look.

"She does have eyes, ears, and has seen practice near everyday," Billa said dryly. "Um, Master Dwalin." 

He looked at her soberly. “And you wish to do this? You’re committing to it.” 

“I think I must, don’t you? Only seems sensible.” 

This time his smile was clearly visible. “Good lass. Now. The first thing you did right, was that you pulled your sword outta yer scabbard _before_ you got to danger. Very important. You did that the other night, too, when we got here, heard that beast growl and out came your sword, against the possibility it might get in.” 

“It’s that important?” 

“What if you’d leapt at that orc and somehow your blade was stuck in it’s scabbard? That would have been...”

“Very awkward,” Billa said, blanching. 

“Aye. The second thing you did right was you didn’t drop it. Be surprised how many green trainees drop their blades the minute they feel the vibrations of a strike go up their arm and jar their teeth.” 

She stood a bit taller at that. “Oh, well.” 

“And? You came out of it alive.” 

“But the...eagles…” 

Dwalin stuck his thumbs in his belt. “Lass, sometimes you’ve got to put a bit of distance between you and the enemy before can turn and engage again.” 

“But...um, pardon me for asking, but….” 

“Miss Baggins, if there is an honorable way to save your life and that of your company, take it with both hands. So, hop an eagle, climb a tree, _do it._.” 

“Take my sword out of my scabbard first, don’t drop it, and stay alive.” 

“Right. Now, for what you need to know. Present a smaller target.” 

Billa looked at Dwalin. Looked down at herself. Looked at him again. Dwalin snorted. 

“Cheek. I’m gonna train you now like I’d train everyone, to give and receive blows, then we’ll get to the bits that will give someone your height the best advantage. First. Fighting stance. Stand like this, elbows in, feet planted a shoulder’s width apart, sword right in the middle, pointed toward your enemy.” He demonstrated. “Protects your softer bits, armor or no, and puts you in a better position to parry strikes than waving it about.”

“Yes, I see,” she said firmly, though Thorin noted her face was quite pale. 

Dwalin went through the six major strike zones, blows and parries for each, and she kept her spine straight and her voice strong, but under her flushed-from-exertion cheeks, her skin had a sallow cast and her jaw was clenched. More than once Dwalin admonished her (gently, for Dwalin) to keep her shoulders down, rising with her tension. This was far from natural for her. But she remained brave, attacking Dwalin with determination when he told her to, bravely bringing up her blade in parry (at quarter speed) to Dwalin’s thrusts. 

“Right,” Dwalin said, after. “Not bad for a greenie. Didn’t puke on me, didn’t drop your sword.”

Billa smiled faintly. “High praise.” Thorin elected not to add it actually was. 

“Now,” Dwalin said. “Best way to have those moves at hand easy as breathing is to practice. Thorin, come show her what she’ll be able to do at full speed.” 

He obliged, and when he felt some stitches rip from parrying an overhand blow, he gritted his teeth and glared at his captain. Dwalin thankfully did not give him up to Billa. 

“I don’t ever think I’ll be able to move that quickly,” Billa said sadly as they finished. Thorin prayed he did not bleed through his shirt. 

“You will, and you have when you protected Thorin. You have good defensive instincts, my lady.” 

She tilted her head. “Why do people keep calling me that?” 

“Betrothal to the king raises your position a bit, doesn’t it? You’re the equivalent of a dwarf lady, now. We probably should have been calling you that all along, being a gentlehobbit and all.” 

“Dwalin is very keen on protocol,” Thorin added dryly. Billa darted him the sweetest, most genuine smile he’d seen since training had begun. 

“You are frequently hilarious, my love,” she murmured. 

“He’s a big hit at parties,” Dwalin added, equally dry. Billa snorted and Dwalin offered her a grin. 

“Now, I marked a stump with the six positions over there; go and have at it for ten minutes, from positions one to six, then six to one, and then again until yer done. Tomorrow you’ll be doing the same. If ya get blisters, see Óin right away, mind?.” 

Billa pushed a wayward lock of hair from her brow and smiled. “Yes, Master Dwalin.” 

“You’ll be seeing Óin for mending, as well” Dwalin said softly in Khuzdul, as Billa began to whack at the stump, muttering to herself when she got her footing wrong. 

“Of course,” Thorin replied smoothly. “Didn’t have to hit so hard, you idiot.” 

“Wouldn’t have split if you hadn’t already been using the arm too much.” Dwalin harrumphed. “Go on, watch the lads’ training and quit making sheep’s eyes at your betrothed!” he snapped loudly, and tipped Thorin a look. “I’ll send her in the house in ten minutes, you follow and get seen to, you hear me?” 

“Don’t fuss so. I’m not sure which one of you is the worse mother hen. You, your brother, Óin or Fili.” 

“Such idiots we are, trying to keep you from dying of completely healable wounds. 

Thorin rolled his eyes and went to see to the lad’s training, the image of his beloved’s serious, pale, brave but frightened face firmly in his mind’s eye. She was trying so hard, and he hoped it wouldn’t cost her like this every day. 

~~~~

Bathed and changed back into skirts, Billa stood frozen on the bottom step, her hands clutching the rail. Across the hall, every male in sight was preoccupied with something; Gandalf with his pipe; Balin and Thorin clearly talking over provisioning needs; and Óin checking over Thorin’s healing wounds and applying his salve.

He had a black bruise the size of both his fists together right in the center of his chest, its' darkness visible under his chest hair because of his pale skin, and the trailing edges of it easily seen just as the soft-looking thatch narrowed to become a line down his stomach. There were other scrapes and bruises, particularly the nasty one over his ribs, and yes, there were glimpses of stitches he’d mentioned earlier, truly not many. But that bruise. 

He should be dead. A blow like that, a bruise like that, he should be dead, unless dwarrow truly were made of stone and she had seen no proof of that. And if _not_ dead, he certainly had to be lying about how well his ribs were doing. Planning on traveling in a few day’s time. _Hah._ Straightening her shoulders, she walked as quietly and quickly to the table as possible. 

She was not noted until she appeared at Óin’s side. “Ah, Billa, lass! Good timing. I could use some help with bandages."

"Gladly," she said quietly, quite unable to look Thorin in the eye. "I am grateful for your skill, Master Óin. I saw a bruise like this once." She covered her need to take a deep breath, quell the stinging in her eyes as best she could by picking up one of the long rolls of soft cloth Óin used as bandages.

"The miller's apprentice, trying to clear some branches from the water wheel after a storm, did not set the mechanism to keep the wheel still properly. His friends, cheering him on outside, could not reach him or the lever in time to prevent the wheels from dragging him a bit, after his weight caused the wheel to turn. He had a great red mark in his chest just like that, which turned into a nasty bruise. That's not what killed him, though." She watched her hands roll and re-roll the end of the bandage. 

"What killed him was a cough. Apparently, a few ribs had broken away from his breastbone, and he had been keeping as still as could be, oh, they were so careful, everyone, I remember several strong hobbits carrying him, strapped to a table from the Green Dragon, moving at a snail's pace, so gentle with him." Billa finally turned and looked into Óin's grave, uncomfortable face. 

"His family were tenants on Bagshot Row, and I happened to be there. I’d come to bring them some soup and fresh made bread. I heard Dahlia, his mother, scream, let myself in, took one look, then ran as fast as I could to fetch our healer.”

She paused to take a deep breath. “His mother said he complained of a tickle in his throat, and before she could help him with some water, he was coughing, and then coughing up blood and couldn't stop...well, until he stopped breathing altogether. They think a rib punctured a great vein in his chest, from all the blood, you see. I've never seen so much. He was dead when we returned." She shivered a bit at the memory. 

"That sounds about right," Óin replied gently. "But that's not the case here, lass." 

"Billa," Thorin began, and she cut him off with a look and by talking over him. 

"Thorin’s ribs still pain him, the ones in his side. Pained him a great deal yesterday, and I can see the bruise there is as black as this one. How can he have _that_ right over his heart,” her voice gave a mighty wobble, and she tried to will away the tears in her eyes as she took another calming breath.

Thorin’s hand slid over hers, stilling her hand on the bandage, and she swallowed hard, finishing in a hoarse whisper, looking at the bruise and not Thorin’s face. “How can he have that and not be in danger? Are dwarrow truly made of stone?" 

"Because I healed him," Gandalf said from his place by the fire. 

Billa took a deep breath and thought about that. "When you whispered over him after the eagle put him down." 

"Yes." 

"But why..." 

"Did I not heal all of it?”

“Yes,” Billa whispered fiercely, swallowing back tears as hard as she could. She would not cry in front of all these males, she would _not_. 

“Because he did have a great many injuries, and healing is not my chief skill. I focused on the most dire.” 

“Most dire.” Billa hiccuped slightly, putting her hand over her mouth, and Thorin, who she still was not looking at, began stroking her hand. She curled hers into a fist around the bandage. He hesitated a moment, and then resumed stroking. 

Gandalf stood and walked toward them. “You were right; he did have ribs away from the breastbone here, and those on his side were broken as well from the warg’s bite, but they are merely cracked now.” 

“Merely,” Billa scoffed, horrified. 

“He had a fractured skull from his fall, as well. Some damage internally, from the blow and the bite, so I focused on what was within, than that without, easily healed by time. Most of what is left is bruising, and a few cuts that Óin can treat easily.” 

Billa sucked in an unsteady breath and closed her eyes for a moment. Behind them, Thorin fell again and again. She fled the memory by opening her eyes. “And the cracked ribs,” she croaked. “If you are trying to reassure me, it is not working, Gandalf.” 

“And the cracked ribs. But they will heal faster, as I was able to get them along a bit before I had to stop.” 

“Had to?” 

“It takes a lot of effort for someone not used to a great deal of healing. Radagast is better at it, as was one other of my order who is now lost. I could not go further, and need time to renew a bit.” He hovered his hand over Thorin’s forehead and whispered a few words. “I’d say they are about half healed, possibly a bit more.” He looked to Óin for confirmation. 

“Well, I can’t close my eyes and see inside him or whatever it is that you do, but yes, he seems about part-way healed, except for the bruising. A week, maybe ten more days,” he smiled at Billa. “Dwarrow do heal a bit quicker than most, lassie. He’ll be right in a bit. And truly, most of this is bruising, and the odd healing cut. The one I just stitched back up will be fine in a day or two. ” 

“The one you just stitched back up,” she replied flatly. She gently removed her hand underneath Thorin's. “He said we’d be traveling again in about three or four days yesterday, so in two or three days?” 

“Aye?” Óin fixed his king with a glare. “Then we’ll be traveling slowly, and you’ll take willow bark or poppy milk when it is offered, without a fight. He doesn’t like it,” he confided to Billa. “Doesn’t like feeling hazy.” 

“Willow bark wouldn’t cause that.” 

“No, that’s just stubbornness.” 

Thorin huffed.

“I see,” Billa said icily. “And training?” 

“Oh, lass,” he threw up his hands. “I let Dwalin handle that, after I tell him what injuries he has, because this right idiot does not know the meaning of ‘limited activity.’ Dwalin keeps him from doing too much.” 

“That is true, Miss Baggins,” Balin said kindly. 

“That does not seem to have worked well on him today.” 

“Ah, well. Stubborn sod. But other than that, I’ll keep an eye on him, don’t you worry. And I could use your help to get these bandages on him, keep the salve next to his skin and not on his shirt.” 

“Am I allowed to add to the conversation yet?” Thorin asked lightly. 

“If you have something useful to offer,” Billa said stiffly. “For instance, if I am allowed to know the state of your health as your intended.” 

“Of course you are.” His voice was warm and a little guilty and still she could not look at him. It would be too easy to forgive, relent, if she could see the same tenderness that she could hear in his voice.

“Thank you,” she replied, and put some starch in her spine. “Master Óin, if you could please help me stay informed? And anything I might do to speed his recovery, please let me know.” 

Óin glanced briefly at his king, and whatever he saw in Thorin’s face caused him to smirk a bit. “Yes, my lady, I promise. Now, if you would help with the bandages?” 

“Of course." She met his eyes and Gandalf's. "Thank you Master Óin, Gandalf, for saving his life.” 

“ _You_ saved his life, Billa,” Gandalf said gently. “We are merely seeing to his healing.” 

“Still, that is no mere thing. Not to me.” 

Gandalf inclined his head and Óin patted her shoulder awkwardly.

Balin stirred and sighed. “I’m off to discuss rations with Bombur, make sure we have our calculations right. I’m just not sure what we’re going to do without meat. It will be a hard road on nuts, honey, cheese and cram.” 

“I might be able to help there,” Gandalf said. “There is a small stretch of land between Beorn’s and Mirkwood that is relatively safe and good for hunting and fishing...and gathering some mushrooms and such for those who care to eat them, good, healthy forest about. It’s about four days from here. And you should stay at least that to hunt and cure some meat.” 

“Five, if we cure skins for winter use. And yes, I remember it,” Balin said. “Nice bend in the river, and a lovely place to camp.” He cleared his throat loudly after he spoke. 

Billa darted a startled glance at him, not realizing that he’d been there before, but Balin was attending his list, his face oddly shuttered, as were the rest of the group. She sighed. 

“Four days here, five days there and how many more to Mirkwood after that?” 

“About two on foot.” 

“So by the time we get to Mirkwood, he’ll be nearly healed,” Billa looked at Óin for confirmation. 

“As good as.” 

She let out a long, slow breath. “This does not mean,” she said, partially turning toward Thorin. “That I am happy with you hiding how much you’d been injured from me.” 

He tried to catch her eye. “It truly is just bruises and cuts, now.” 

“And _cracked ribs._ ” 

Óin handed her a bandage and placed a clean flannel pad over the bruise on Thorin's chest, which had been slathered liberally with Óin’s salve, and gestured for him to hold it in place while he started wrapping the bandage.

Thorin sighed. 

“Oh, and Gandalf?” Óin said calmly, handing the end of the bandage to Billa and gathering Thorin’s hair out of the way. He handed her the hair, and she handed him the bandage to wrap over his back. 

“Sit up straight,” he snapped to his patient. 

“Mmm?” Gandalf said as he was preparing to relight his pipe. 

“ _Do_ let me know the extent of my patient’s injuries next time, no matter whether they’re healed or not. I was able to read a good bit of what you’d done by the bruises on him, so I knew he wasn’t going to be killed by an - your pardon, Billa - an ill-timed cough...but I did not know about his head. I cannot look after him properly if I don’t _know_.” 

“You didn’t need to know because his injuries were healed and you were exhausted. We all were.” 

“Exhausted! All the better reason to spread your knowledge so we could have taken turns keeping an eye out! I'm a healer; I'm used to exhausted! Those were, almost every one, fatal injuries!”

“Wizards, honestly,” he said to Billa, who had become wobbly as she was reminded of how dire his injuries were. “Flippin’ about, healing people hither and yon and never letting you know what they’ve been up to.” 

“And don’t you _faint_ , lassie,” he barked, taking Thorin’s hair from her hand and shoving her head down. “Could pass out and rip a chunk of his hair out, the tight hold you’ve got on it. Scalp wounds bleed _terribly._ ” 

Groaning, Billa bent the rest of the way over, putting her head between her knees. 

“Will someone help her sit down? I am half tangled in bandages,” Thorin growled. 

“I’m fine,” Billa said defiantly, popping up to glare at Thorin. “I’m perfectly fine.” 

“Sorry, Billa," Óin said. "Got a bit annoyed,” he glared daggers at Gandalf. 

“Well, I’m off,” Balin said hurriedly, and Gandalf made a harrumphing noise in his throat, squeezed Billa’s shoulder and beat a hasty retreat as well. 

“Billa,” Thorin said. 

“Let’s get you bandaged up before we have a private chat, shall we?” She said brightly, quivering deep inside from anger or fear, she wasn’t sure which. 

He sighed again. 

She and Óin did a dance of sorts around Thorin, one of them keeping his hair out of the way while the other wrapped the bandage around his ribs. Billa, in front, was in charge of wrapping it across his broad chest, so close it was almost an embrace, and the trembling deep within her was beginning to affect her hands, which shook with the effort of not touching him, not looking at him, with keeping her tangled heart calm enough to help. 

On one pass, as both hands were occupied getting the bandage smooth, he murmured her name, close to her ear, and before she could think to do otherwise, she met his gaze. He looked at her with such unconcealed, unrestrained love and concern, her breath caught and her eyes stung with tears. 

“Don’t,” she begged him in a whisper. 

“I merely wanted to….” 

“Óin, do you think you can finish up here? I have something…” her voice broke. 

“Of course, lass,” he said kindly. 

“Billa…” 

“ I _asked_ to discuss this in private, Thorin Oakenshield,” she said a sternly as she could, tears in her voice and clutching the sides of her skirt so she would not wring her hands. “If you cannot follow that simple request, I will remove myself and meet you outside.” 

She spun on her heel and marched out of Beorn’s Hall, hurrying, and then running past the members of the company gathered on the porch for a smoke, heedless of their cries of concern. 

~~~

After suffering the collective glares and pointed looks of the old gossips on the porch, Thorin found Billa in the flower garden viciously ripping up weeds. 

“I know,” she bit off. “‘Don’t fuss.’” 

“That’s not what I was going to say at all,” he said softly, thinking to kneel beside her and help. She nearly pinned his ears back with a glare and a growl and pointed emphatically to the stone bench. 

“Let’s not get stitched up _again_ twice in one day, shall we?” 

He gritted his teeth, inclined his head and stomped off to the bench. He heard her noise of effort as she rose and sighed. She would not even let him help her up. But she was looking at him, which he counted as progress. 

Billa did allow him to hand her to a seat on the bench, and keep her hand as he sat beside her. 

“We must struggle through this together, my heart,” she said hoarsely, her gaze fixed on their joined hands. “You are my treasure as well,” she added, her chin trembling. “And I would see to your health.” 

“Your heart. I am glad you still name me so.” 

“I’m angry and afraid, not...I will not withhold my love from you simply because I am angry, Thorin.” 

“You withhold your gaze.” 

“I had a cousin who used to try to jolly me out of an argument by teasing me and telling me I had my heart on my sleeve. Too sensitive. The angrier I became, the more he pulled faces and taunted...I had every right to be angry, and refused to look at him so he could talk me ‘round. It became a habit. And sometimes I do it when I’m feeling a bit shy. I find myself less apt to get hurt, I suppose, if I do not look. And,” she said very faintly. “I don’t want you to see how upset I am.” 

“I apologize for bringing you pain, Billa.” He wanted to hold her so very much. “And for not honoring your request to wait until now to speak.” 

“Thank you. Why didn’t you tell me how hurt you were?”

He lifted her hand to kiss, and finding dirt still clinging to it, took the corner of his tunic and wiped it clean. She gave a small watery snort of laughter, and he darted a glance at her as he set his lips to her skin. She gave him a pained smile. 

“I remember a bit of the eagle flight, as I drifted in and out, but I remember. I remember regret. My last sight was of you, brave and terrified, facing down my worst nightmare. I did not even have the strength to tell you to run. And the thought that I had brought you to your doom was far more crushing than any warg’s bite.”

“I knew I was dying. I knew I had failed. Failed as my father and grandfather had, failed my people. And I failed you, denying you. There is no word deep enough for the regret I had, leaving this life, and going to my father’s halls never having told you of my love, never greeting the other half of my soul.” 

Beside him, Billa began to cry quietly. 

“No, no my love, wait,” he pressed her hand gently, then kissed it, not knowing if more would be welcome. “There is a happy ending to this tale.” 

“I know.” She gave an great sniffle and wiped her face with her free hand, smudging it with dirt. “Why are you telling me this?” 

“Because, when Gandalf healed me, when I woke and saw your face, your lovely shining face, I was done denying my heart. I would never run from you again, never be such a fool. So, I came to you here, in this garden, and set myself before your eyes.”

“I didn’t tell you how severe my injuries were….I didn’t think it would be best to say, ‘I nearly died, and realized I was an idiot not to ask for you.’ I was already visibly injured. I did not want your pity, or feel you had to respond to me because of my injuries or the fact you had saved me. I came to you with as much of my best self I could be, as is proper.” 

“And later?” 

“To be honest, my pearl? I was too happy to give it much thought. Any aches I felt were well worth having you in my arms.” 

“You’re being so horribly _reasonable_ about this,” she said, trying to dry her face with her dirty hand again. Belatedly, she rummaged in her pocket and found a handkerchief, and dried her eyes roughly. “I am not feeling very reasonable at _all_ ,” she choked, tears rolling down her face.

“Shhh, shhh, come here,” he murmured, and urged her to come stand between his knees so he could hold her. 

“No, I’m all right,” she said as she came to him. He finally caught her eye. 

“No, _ghivashel_ , my pearl, my treasure, you are not,” he murmured, took her handkerchief to gently dry her tears and clean the smudge from her face, then folded her into his arms. “I regret you saw the death of the miller’s apprentice, that must have been horrifying. Your Shire seems a peaceful place.” 

“His name was Toby. And yes, for the most part, it is. I’ve seen death before, but never so much blood.” She shuddered in his arms, hands fisted in his tunic. “He was so young.” 

He held her, thinking with a dim, familiar pang of his brother, gone these many years, taking comfort from stroking her back and hair, and she lay her head on his shoulder. 

“When I saw that bruise, I was so scared, knowing if what I was seeing was true, any little thing could…” 

“I know. I know. I am here by your grace, the wizard’s and Óin’s healing salves.” 

She leaned back and framed his face with her hands. “Will you listen to us when we tell you to have a care for yourself? Would you leave Fili to become king so young? Your home with a dragon in it? Would you leave…” her breath hitching, she pressed her forehead to his. 

“If it is in my power, I will never leave your side, Belladonna Baggins.” 

“If it is _not_ in your power and is in mine, I will always do whatever is in my power to save you. If only to shout at you for scaring me.” 

“I will bear up under such scolding.” 

“Well, then.” 

“Well.” He ran his hands comfortingly up and down her back. “Fierce Pearl. Loving Pearl. I am most fortunate.” 

“You really are,” she huffed, and embraced him once more.

"Am I forgiven, then?" 

"Yes. And will you let me care for your health? Let me help? " 

"As best as I am able. I am used to tending to myself. It will take getting used to, this being part of a pair. I am apt to be grumpy." 

She snorted. "That I expect. I am no cheerful patient either." 

"And you will allow my help, at need?" 

"I promise."

"As do I." 

She was still afraid, tension in her frame, though seemingly no longer angry, and he stroked her back, tucked his face in the crook of her neck and breathed in the scent of lavender, honey soap and her as stillness, belonging, settled around them in the afternoon light, bees darting amongst the flowers with contented hums. He never expected to feel such peace outside a mountain. 

"Might I kiss you, my pearl, seal the bargain between us?" 

She withdrew from his embrace slightly, and stood before him, eyes cast down demurely. "Yes," she said shyly.

Thorin brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “We need not if you feel uncomfortable.” 

“It’s not that,” she said, resting her hands lightly, so lightly, on his chest, careful of him. “I am still so afraid. I wish I were more brave.” 

“Billa. All of us are afraid. Our quest is perilous, but full of hope, and love for home. Bravery comes from facing your fear to still seek your goal. And I have seen your bravery, my lady. You are formidable.” 

“Flattery,” she huffed, not looking at him, but playing with the ties of his tunic. He pressed her hand over his heart. 

“Truth. I am grateful, humbled, by your bravery, your passion and your care, Belladonna Baggins.” 

She gave him a small mischievous smile. “I will remind you of that when I dose you with willow bark or poppy milk for your pains.” 

“Do. But, please, I really despise poppy milk.” He cupped her soft cheek, brushing her over the arch of it with his thumb. “I would lean forward to kiss you, my pearl, if not for the pull at my side. I feel you might chide me for that.” 

She gave him a look. “ _Much_ better,” she replied and returned to his arms with a soft smile. 

His heart swelled with tenderness. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips. 

“Thorin,” she gasped, and as she did, he gently took her mouth, pulled her closer, and gave himself over to showing her, through his touch, through his kiss, his heart. 

“You will make me cry again,” Billa whispered, voice unsteady. “And my nose will swell up like a tomato.” 

“But I thought that was a particular delicacy from your garden.” 

She laughed into the next kiss, holding him more tightly. Need for her flared softly within him, and he changed the slant of his lips, kissed her deeply, groaning at the soft stroke of her tongue against his. She began to tremble, her breath tattered against his mouth, and soft, such soft love cries, and oh, the sweet ache of holding his desire in check. 

She drew away to gaze, piercing sweet, into his eyes, her hand coming up to stroke his cheek, brush over his lower lip, and with a small smile, she wrapped her hand around his betrothal braid. He gave hers a tiny tug and tilted his chin, his eyes on her mouth, and she came to him, her kiss gentle and deep with love, and this time, he melted into her arms, assured bone-deep of their future joining, their future life.

“My heart is so full,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers. “Just when I think I know the depths of it, your care, your touch, draws me ever deeper.” 

“I know,” she said simply. It’s that way for me, as well.” 

“Billa. Sweet Billa.” He pressed a slow kiss on her cheek and curled their hands together over his heart. “I am so fortunate.” 

“So you said.” 

He took in her growing smile, the dimple in her cheek, the arch of her brow and knew joy at her brightening mood. “Which you will definitely remind me of when the time comes for willow bark.” 

She grinned. “Exactly,” and happily wound her arms around his neck.

~~~~~

Her scream split the night. A scream of such loss and despair and he was out of his bed, and through her door without a second thought, Orcrist, which he did not recall picking up, in hand. 

She was thrashing in her sleep, arm flailing at some foe as if she held a sword, muttering, “No, no no no,” in rising grief as she fought. It broke his heart. 

“Billa, Billa wake up, my treasure,” he called loudly, as he set aside Orcrist, moved to the banked fire, and lit a candle so she would not wake in darkness. “Wake up, my love,” he said as he returned to the bed, keeping himself and the flame well away from her flailing limbs. “Wake up! 

With a gasp, she sat up as if tearing herself out of sleep, tangled in the covers and tried to fight her way free. He moved to help her, and she gazed up at him, anguished.

“Thorin,” she choked, grief flooding her voice. “Too late, too late. Couldn’t save you.” Her lower lip quivered as she tried to master her breathing, her hands twisted in the sheet. Thorin sat on the edge of the bed and opened his arms. 

She crept into his embrace, hesitant, limbs jerky, as if uncertain of her welcome, and again, his heart broke for her. She should not have to endure this. 

“I couldn’t help, I couldn't help, I couldn’t do _anything_...” she whispered, breath hitching painfully, and began to cry. 

“But you did save me,” he murmured into her ear, so she would be sure to hear him over her tears. “You saved me, and I am here, my _ghivashel_ , my rare one. And I love you so.” 

“And I you," she replied on a sob. She clung to him, trembling, her tears dampening his skin. 

He could hear a charge down the hallway, and a moment later, Gandalf appeared at the door, staff alight, and a breath later, Dwalin, clad only in his tattoos and axes, leapt into the room with a roar, ready for a fight. 

Billa’s face was pressed against his neck, and he placed a gentle hand on her hair, urging her to stay where she was and shifted them slightly so that he faced the door a bit more, and she could have the privacy of looking toward the bedroom wall. Seconds later, it seemed half the company was in the doorway, concerned faces and weapons at the ready. 

“All is well,” Thorin said to the assembly. “Battle dream.” He glared at Dwalin. “Cover yourself in front of the lady, _bund thurkûn_ " 

“Your pardon,” Dwalin replied gruffly, turning his back to them, as Balin pushed his way through the group with a weapon in one hand and his brother's pants in the other. 

“Honestly, Dwalin.” 

“Did you not hear that scream?” Dwalin growled softly. “I would rather risk embarrassment than see our lady hurt.” 

“Thank you,” she said, turning from the refuge of Thorin’s shoulder. “You were very kind to come, all of you. I am just mortified.” 

“It’s no matter, lassie,” Balin said kindly. “We’ve all had our share of battle dreams, some worse than most. Come now, everyone, back to bed.” He paused gave Gandalf a look, sidelong, as he shooed Dwalin out the room like a wayward duckling. 

“Billa,” Gandalf said in the gentlest voice Thorin had ever heard from him. “I could help you sleep, or ask Óin for a calming tea.” 

She carefully extracted herself from Thorin’s arms to address the wizard. “Save your magic for your mission, Gandalf,” she said tiredly, wiping her eyes with the flat of her hand. “That is the greater need. I’ll be fine. And I hate chamomile. It tastes like old grass.” 

The wizard huffed dryly. “Your mother would blister my ears for leading you into situations that caused you such distress.” 

“Gandalf,” she chided him, exasperated. “I came of my own free will, and am a hobbit grown. Besides, you know well enough I have had these sorts of dreams before.” 

“Yes,” he said heavily. “I do." He sighed. "Well, you seem to be in good hands.” 

“None finer.” 

“Well then,” Gandalf said, darting Thorin a glance that was held both approval and a fatherly warning. “I will bid you both goodnight, and more pleasant dreams.” 

“Thank you, and thanks for your offer.” 

Thorin exchanged a grave nod with the wizard, and turned back to Billa as the wizard saw himself out, leaving the door slightly ajar, presumably for propriety’s sake. 

“Are you well, my pearl?” He moved to smooth her sleep-mussed hair, damp with sweat and tumbling around her shoulders, her courting and betrothal braids still firmly in place, which made him him smile. Her answering one was wan. 

“I am better,” she sighed. “Thank you, beloved.” 

“It is my honor and privilege to come to your aid.” He paused. “I am distressed to know you have battle dreams. You have had them before?” 

“Toby’s death...and. When we were in Rivendell, after the wargs…” She took a deep breath. “Years ago, the Shire had a dreadful winter. Crops had failed, the winter was brutally cold…” 

“This is the Fell Winter you spoke of earlier.” 

“Yes, I suppose I did,” she blinked, and began to pleat the sheet between her fingers, a nervous gesture. 

“The Brandywine - that great river that runs through the Shire - froze, and orcs and wolves and wargs…” her throat closed with tears and remembered fear, her breath quick and distressed. He reached for her. She crept into his arms again, this time with a sigh of relief. 

“Do not tell me now, my pearl. It will only conjure up the memories. But you had such a dream in Rivendell?” 

“Yes, and Gandalf heard me. He brought me some tea and sat by my bed until I fell asleep.” 

“It often helps to have someone nearby, particularly if you have dreamt of things that threatened your life. That was well done by him.” 

“Yes,” she said with a hiccuping sigh. 

He ran his hand gently over her hair. “Do you wish me to stay awhile, keep the dreams at bay?” 

“Yes,” she said quickly, her voice tight with tension. “I suppose all the training and talk of danger and the fright your wound gave me brought all this to my dreams. And Toby. Poor Toby.” 

“Perhaps,” he said. “Sometimes they come when fear and memories are stirred up, and they come for no obvious reason. They just come, wounding your soul anew.” 

“I am glad you are here,” she said in a small voice. “Thank you so for coming.” 

He leaned back to cup her cheek. “Of course I would come. Of course. If you’ll give me a moment to return to my room for my tunic...I think that would be more proper.” He glanced down at his bandage-clad chest. 

“Of course,” she whispered, crossing her arms over her chest as if just realizing she was clad in a thin white shift. He valiantly kept his eyes on her face. In her dreaming, she had sweated enough for it to cling to her curves, and now was not the time to find that arousing. 

“I want to change my shift. This one is...ugh.” 

Thorin leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “I’ll be back in a moment, _ghivashel_.” 

Billa caught his hand as he rose. “Thank you for not treating this as a silly thing, or treating me like one.” 

“Billa,” he kissed her hand and then her palm. “Did you not hear Balin? The most valiant of warriors have battle dreams. I have battle dreams. I have heard the most hardened warrior cry out in the night, cry as if his soul might break. There is no shame in it, to me, or to the company. It merely means you have survived something that hurt you, soul-deep, and left a scar, whether it be actual battle or no. But you survived, and will survive. And such dreams do not have to rule your nights...or other times when the memories come to you.” 

She took a deep, shivering breath, tears standing in her eyes. “I think...I think that was exactly what I needed to hear. Gandalf said something very like…” She gave him a small, rueful smile. “Apparently I needed to hear it twice. In an odd way, it helps that you know what this is like.” 

“I will try not to gloat that it was my words, not the wizard’s, that aided you at last.” He caught her smile as he leaned forward to kiss her forehead, made for his room quickly, shrugging on his tunic, and digging in his pack for a book. He knocked on her door, and when she bid him enter, found her tucked up in bed, wearing a blue shift, looking very shy. 

“Might I suggest building up the fire for a bit more light as you sleep?” 

“That sounds fine.” 

He tended the fire and dragged the chair near it closer to her bed. It was overlarge, as most of Beorn’s furniture was, but it would do, and he might even be able to curl up in it in some semblance of comfort. 

“Um, what are you doing?” 

“I...I was going to sit beside you as you slept.” 

She flushed prettily. “I rather thought you’d be here, with me, to keep the dreams at bay.” 

It was his turn to flush, and not just with embarrassment. “Billa.” 

“Unless you’re not comfortable with that.” 

“I did not think _you_ would be.” 

She took a deep breath and said hesitantly, “I would feel safest with you near, perhaps with your arm around me.” 

Thorin took his own deep breath to calm himself, put the book aside, blew out the candle, and rounded the other side of the bed and crawled in beside her, atop the covers. She let out a long sigh. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. “How might we…I don’t want to rest on your bruises.” 

“Here,” he murmured, arranging himself on the pillow, and holding out his arm. Shyly, she came and curled against his shoulder, carefully checking for hurts as she did. She settled and then, quite soon, was a bit restless. 

“Pearl?” 

“I...I miss the warmth of your skin,” she said in that small, hesitant voice. “That may be too much to ask.” 

He gently set her aside and shrugged out of his tunic. “My nephews were much the same when they were small and dreams troubled them. Only resting next to my skin, their mother’s or father’s, when he was still with us, would calm them. I took my turn and spent many a night with a small one on my chest.” 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

“Kili had a bad habit of pulling my chest hair. Actually, Kili just had a bad habit of hair-pulling. Fili liked to gnaw on my braids and would try to sleep with one wrapped in his fist.” 

To his delight, she snorted with amusement, then turned her face against his chest to snicker. He smiled and pressed a kiss to her hair, began to stroke it, then froze. “I do not want to take any liberties…

“If you stop, I shall kick you. And it’s something you do anyway, dearest. And I’m the one who is taking selfish liberties, having you here like this. Do, tuck a bit of the counterpane over you to keep warm.” 

“I would do anything to help you, my pearl, I see no fault in your requests. And at the moment, you are warmth enough.” He gave her a careful squeeze and she snuggled next to his side, yawning. 

“Might I have your hand, beloved?” he murmured. She stretched it shyly across the bandage. He kissed her knuckles and twined their hands together over his heart. 

“Only because the bandage prevents you from pulling my hair, you see.” 

“Of course,” she yawned again, a smile clear in her voice. 

“Sleep,” he whispered. “You have had a trying day and a troubled night.” 

“My love,” she said drowsily. He pressed his cheek against her hair and listened to her quiet breathing. Then she tensed, whimpering. 

“I can see Azog, sometimes, snarling that dark speech, when I close my eyes. See him standing over you…clearly ordering that orc…” 

“Shhh, shhh, he is not there. That orc is not here. You are safe. Say it.” 

“I am safe.” 

He stroked her hair, her arm. “Breathe with me, my pearl, and say it again.” She did. And once again, her voice calmer. 

“Close your eyes” he murmured. 

She stiffened. “I am safe,” she whispered fiercely, her breath hitching. “Thorin is safe.” 

His heart pinched painfully. Still seeking to protect him in her distress. “I am. And I am here. Breathe deeply, Billa. Breathe with me. And think of a song to sing.” 

“A song?” 

“Mmm. Sometimes it’s best to distract the mind with something else, something of joy or comfort, or something to give strength. Can you think of anything? Or a poem?” 

“All I can think of is a lullaby of my mother’s.” 

“I would love to hear it.” 

She took a deep breath, clutched his hand tightly, and began to sing. Her voice shook from time to time, and a few words she had to simply breathe out, her throat choked with tears. 

_[Sleep my darling, sleep my love.](http://bead-bead.tumblr.com/post/74804387305/a-very-rough-cut-of-a-song-for-the-next#notes)_

 _[

Stars are shining up above.

Sleep my darling, sleep my dear, 

all the ones you love are near. 

Near beside you in the night,

like the stars that shine so bright.

So sleep my darling, sleep my love,

wrapped in starlight and in love.

](http://bead-bead.tumblr.com/post/74804387305/a-very-rough-cut-of-a-song-for-the-next#notes)_

“Would you sing it again, beloved? I would learn such a lovely tune.” 

This time her voice was stronger, sweeter, and helpless not to imagine it, his mind conjured up a picture of her singing to a babe, both of them wrapped in his arms. He pressed his face to her hair. 

“Is your mind calmer?” he whispered when she finished. 

“Yes.” She kissed his shoulder. 

“Might I sing with you this time?” 

“I would like that,” she replied, sounding drowsy. 

“Can you close your eyes yet?” 

“I...I’m afraid to.” 

“I know the feeling well. Come,” he said softly. “We will sing away the shadows.” 

They sang the short tune twice, and finally, tension flowed out of her frame and she melted into his side, truly relaxed, her words slurring, interrupted by yawns, as they reached the last phrase. 

“Shall I sing for you this time?” 

“Please.” Her voice was heavy with sleep. 

Thorin sang her mother’s lullaby, and when he finished, she was asleep in his arms. He allowed himself a long moment to cherish that, pressed his face against her hair, and softly humming the lullaby to chase his own shadows, followed Billa into sleep. 

~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do be kind to the humble recording of the song. I have forgotten how to edit Audacity files, so my big breaths (I'm weezy today) are in there in all their glory. I'll figure it out and put up a cleaner version soon. 
> 
> I have always taken issue when a work has a song and we have no idea what it sounds like. The music is half of the equation.
> 
> The lullaby was written by me, years ago, and is the first song each of my nieces and nephews hear when they come into the world.
> 
> Glossary: bund thurkûn = rock head.
> 
> Lastly, about PTSD: The flashback dispelling techniques used here were taught to me by my therapist. Also important are drinking water and moving, both of which dispel stress hormones. Trauma memories are stored in the amygdala, part of our "lizard brain," bypassing every reasoning center, so when they get triggered, the lizard brain is all, "OH NO IT'S HAPPENING AGAIN." It's hard to argue with a lizard. You literally cannot prevent the memory from resurfacing or stop it once it starts. 
> 
> But you can diffuse a flashback, so I use singing to calm it, singing in a foreign language if it's very bad (and choosing a naughty song from Moulin Rouge is somehow thumbing my nose at PTSD). Some use poetry - Invictus is popular - and others name what they can see in front of them to come back to the present. 
> 
> Works for garden variety panic attacks, too. 
> 
> Thus endeth the lesson. :)


	10. Of Fathers and Failure, Fear and Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grief, even after a long time, sometimes hits you like a gut punch. Beorn and the Company discuss plans, Thorin gets broody, Billa is awesome, innuendo is not passed by. Characters discuss food and Bead gets very hungry.
> 
> This one has some angst. Just a bit.
> 
> A reminder: I am playing with the timeline and melding together book and movie. Do not expect canon strict timelines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary: 
> 
> _Sanghivasha_ = perfect treasure 
> 
> _Hôfukinh_ = lady of joy
> 
>  _ghivasheluh_ = my treasure of treasures (-uh suffix means "my")
> 
>  _Kurdûnuh._ = my heart 
> 
> _Kurdûnizu._ = your heart
> 
> Thank you to the Khuzdul scholar for this.
> 
> Large bit in italics is a flashback scene/memory of Thrain before he goes galavanting off to never be seen again.
> 
> Thanks, as always to my cheerleaders and brainstorm eras, tygermama and Darthstitch.

His One was nestled against his heart, smelling of sleep and lavender and honey soap, soft curves under his hands, his sweet Pearl. Sighing, Thorin curled her closer, and at her answering happy sigh, smoothed his hand up and down her back, then brushed the hem of her shift aside to clasp her silky thigh, and began to ease her leg over his hip….he gasped at the same time she did, his eyes flying open, staring into hers, sleepy and startled, realizing he was not _dreaming_ of Billa in his arms, he _had_ Billa in his arms, and they were not yet wed. 

Thorin disentangled himself carefully, and backed to a safe distance, tossed the counterpane over his lower body and forced himself to meet her eyes. “I do beg your pardon, Billa. This is..this is. Shameful. You have not called for me to touch you so. Please forgive...” 

She looked at him, his clever Pearl, struggling to wake fully. “Were you awake, my love, when you touched me so?” 

“I thought I dreamed...but aware enough to know it was you in my arms.” 

She reached up to touch his cheek, smiling softly. “You turned to me in the night, in your sleep, and waking, reached for me.” She smiled, such a radiant smile, and his breath caught at the sight of her, his shining, tousled Pearl, even as he was sunk in shame.

“I have seen the way you sleep when we’re traveling, which is not much and often fitfully, worried for our safety, so to know you slept so deeply at my side as to forget exactly...” She pressed her hand over her heart. “Humbling. Yes, there was deep want, you were not alone in that, my heart, but more, I felt so safe, so loved. And that is nothing to apologize for.” 

He turned his face into her hand and kissed her palm. _“Sanghivasha.”_

“Some sort of treasure?” 

Thorin looked into her eyes, her gaze so full of love, and named her, ”Perfect treasure.” 

“Oh, I don’t know about tha…” He cupped her cheek and gently put his thumb over her mouth. 

“ _Sanghivasha. Ghivashel. Hôfukinh._ ”

Blushing, she raised her brows expectantly. 

“Perfect treasure, Treasure of all Treasures, Lady of Joy.” 

“Such sweet names, my heart. Oh, how do I say that in Khuzdul?” 

A thrill ran through him, deep inside, at her request. He took a careful breath. _“Kurdûnuh.”_

She repeated it it softly, getting it right, even as her gaze sharpened. “Something just happened, _kurdûnuh._ ” 

“ _Kurdûnizu._ Your heart. I may not tell you the rest until we are wed.” 

“I can tell it’s something good.” 

“I look forward to sharing it. Very much.” 

Her dimple showed, and her eyes danced with lazy mischief a moment after. “Then I will wait patiently for my surprise, and not tickle it out of you.” 

Thorin drew as much majesty as he could around himself. “I am a dwarf,” he said in a deep, serious tone. “A king of a proud people. We do not _tickle._ ” 

“So you’re _terribly_ ticklish, then.” She was so lovely, so merry. He discreetly jammed a finger in one of his bruises to cool his ardor. 

“Might I remind you, my One, of my frail health? My healing ribs?” His voice most emphatically did not crack. 

“Hmph,” she pouted, eyes still sparkling. “You are the enemy of fun.” 

“On the contrary, I can think of several diverting activities,” he drawled. 

She turned her face into the pillow, the reddest of rubies in her blush, then smiled back at him. “It’s easy to think of, mornings like this together. When we are wed.” 

“When we are wed,” he replied warmly, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek. “Though this morning has it’s charms as well.” They lay there, on their sides, enjoying one another’s presence. “And I don’t know what you’re blushing so about, I was speaking of reading to you.” 

She swatted at him, giggling, and he grinned with her. 

“How goes the puzzle?” he asked innocently. Billa snorted and reached out to tug his betrothal braid. 

“Not badly. Might have to do some research work for some clues.” 

He frowned at her. 

“Research work. With the scholars?” 

Ori and Balin. Thankfully discreet. _Much_ better that than nephews. “Ah. Yes. Do let me know if you’d like a hint dropped here or there,” he said lightly

“Mmmhmm. Soon, my love. I have it almost solved. And, well, I’m not rushing your ribs.” 

Inhaling deeply, joy running through his veins, all he could do was lean forward to kiss her, careful and chaste. 

“And you are right to, for I wish to be healed when you call for me.” he whispered in her ear. “And I was right, you are as beautiful as I thought you’d be, when you wake in peace. Perhaps more.” 

She stroked his cheek. “And I am grateful that you helped me sleep in peace, my love,” smiling but a little sad. He hesitated for a breath, waiting to see if she needed to speak of the dream. 

“I am grateful for the trust of being at your side on such a night.” He kissed her softly once more, waited for her small smile, and withdrew, half-rolling himself to the edge of the bed opposite her.

“Will you have a bit of a lie-in?” he said over his shoulder. “Shall I bring you breakfast?” 

Billa groaned. “Oh, and hide from everyone who saw me shaking and crying after a bad dream last night” She sighed. “No, I’ll come down, dearest. Thank you, though.” 

Thorin pulled on his tunic, thankful that it mostly hid the bulge of his cock, half-ready for her still, began to pad to the door, then returned to her side to kiss her hand, collect Orcrist and his book. She still smiled at him, lovely as could be. 

“Good morning, _kurdûnuh_ ,” she whispered. 

“A very good morning, sweet Pearl,” he replied. 

“Will you not call me pearl in your language?” 

He smiled and kissed her palm slowly, his eyes on hers, until her eyes went dark, and she trembled. “Not yet.” 

~~~~~

Thorin was leaning elegantly against the wall opposite her door, comb in hand, when she emerged in her trousers, ready for training after breakfast. His eyebrows flew upward, and his eyes crinkled in a smile.

“Forgot to warn you,” she said, knowing she was blushing. 

“Ah, but it’s such a lovely surprise,” he purred in his midnight and velvet voice, his gaze very appreciative. Billa rolled her eyes, oddly nervous, and breathed her way through the flush of longing that voice caused. 

“I’m going to order a half-dozen pair when I get the chance, just to discombobulate you,” she warned him, hands on hips. “Plus new waistcoats.” 

“I will be glad of it. I will order a half-dozen dwarrow-style trousers and tunics for you. They are cut for curves and comfort. All,” he said, before she could protest. “Modest enough for everyday, but I know you will look…” His eyes traveled over her again, joyful and hungry. “Wonderful.” 

Billa flapped her hands at him. “And now I’m all flustered and shy.” 

He pushed off the wall, came to her, rubbed her cheek with the back of his knuckles and said softly, “I mean to compliment, _ghivashel_ , not embarrass. You are lovely to me, always.” 

Billa closed her eyes a moment and sighed, leaning into his touch. “Thank you, Thorin,” she replied softly. “Would you do a braid good for training this morning?” 

“Shall I do something that can be taken down later with minimal fuss for the rest of the day?” 

“No, I’ll probably have a full bath and wash it after training.” 

“Mmm, I get the pleasure of seeing it unbound yet again,” he smiled, stroking her hair. “Come by the fire.” 

The morning was cool, and he’d made a small fire for them, which was so sweet, and Billa sighed as they got themselves situated, trying to shake off her odd mood. She waited silently for him to start, but instead felt his hands stroking her arms, soothing and slow. 

“Billa, is something amiss? Truly, I did not…” 

She turned and curled her arms around him, cuddling close, her cheek pressed against his. He returned the hug instantly, tender in a way that made it hard to speak. “Lingering shadows,” she confessed haltingly. “….I remembered my dream as I was dressing. I’m...unsettled.” 

“Ah. Should I not have teased?” 

“Oh, pffft,” she huffed, leaning her head against his shoulder. “No, you’re a delicious flirt and I enjoy that so, I just feel...a half-step off, but I think…I think I needed this when I woke,” she said, hugging him more tightly. “And was too shy to ask for it in my room, after…and now most definitely needed after remembering the dream." 

“I understand that feeling well, after a such a dream, and apologize again,” he murmured, his hand stroking down the length of her hair. “I wondered if you wished to speak of it. I will do my best to anticipate...but if I fail, as I did this morning, for I saw a shadow in your face but did not want to press, ask for what you need, my Pearl, and you will have it.” 

“Truly, I understood and found no fault, my love, but after…” This was so much easier to say not looking right at him. “And it is no failure, my gracious. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, or ask for something outside the boun-.” 

He gave her a gentle squeeze. “Shhh. I wait for your call, Billa. Until then, I will treat you with the honor you deserve, whether we lie in your bed together during a night of shadows, or anywhere else.” He leaned back and looked her in the eye. “ _Ghivasheluh_ , my treasure of all treasures, if you need comfort or a companion or whatever you wish, you have but to ask, and you shall have it.” 

“But…” 

He put a gentle finger on her lips. “Another of our marriage traditions is to offer rest, as you come to join together with your One, offer for them to rest by your side, next to your heart. The offer means not only comfort and pleasure, but love and protection. To offer the best of yourself. I have already held you next to my heart in sleep. I may not have expressly offered - and I will when I come to you as your husband - but you have me, Billa. Rest by me, come to me, in sorrow or joy.” 

She took a deep, shivering sigh, a lump in her throat, as she looked into his kind, loving face, then retreated to the safety of his shoulder again. He stroked her back, her arms, her hair, offering comfort. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, voice thick, and stayed in his arms a long, long moment. He held her without impatience, hands steady and sure as he touched her, tender and so full of love. Billa sighed again, this time with growing contentment. 

“I had forgotten,” she said, forehead pressed against his throat. “In our marriage ceremony, one of the vows…. ‘My heart is yours, and I promise to stand by your side in famine and fire, and sorrow and sickness, for love is a growing thing, and can still flourish in hard earth with care.’” 

Thorin gave her a long, comfortable squeeze. “I had not thought of it that way, but that is a very fine way to put it. Loving and protective and practical.” 

“Exactly,” she replied. 

“Not so different,” he whispered. 

“No.” 

“Billa,” his voice had a thread of humor running underneath it. “Did we just marry?” 

“No!” she smacked at his shoulders lightly, and snorted softly with amusement. “No, just as you didn’t ask me to rest by you _officially_ , we didn’t say all the vows,and you didn’t repeat it back to me.” 

“Ah. Good.” He snugged her ever closer. “I prefer to know when I’m getting married.” 

“A secret wedding is too secret if only one of us knows about it?” 

“Exactly.” 

She hugged him, delighted. “You are frequently hilarious, my love.” 

“With you,” he said simply. “My heart is light.” 

Billa leaned back and took his face in her hands. “My heart is home.” 

The way he looked at her, oh, the way his eyes deepened with love was hard to describe, but suddenly blue was the warmest color in the world, and his expression was of wondering joy, as it had been when she set his first braid. 

“Pearl,” he whispered, and kissed her. 

This was the other thing she needed this morning, she realized, as she sunk into his kisses. To feel this close to him, to _be_ this close to him, love and be loved in a way words could not touch. When they parted, she cleared her throat delicately. 

“I hear rubbing vinegar gently into a bruise helps it heal more quickly,” she offered innocently. 

He gave her a sunburst of a smile and rubbed his nose against hers. “Are you trying to speed my healing, Miss Baggins?” 

“I would see to your comfort, your majesty,” she replied, rounding her eyes in earnestness, keeping as straight a face as she could. 

“I am quite comfortable,” he murmured, his eyes on her mouth, and she smiled as she leaned in to take his offer. 

“Did you,” Thorin asked as they parted. “Mean to set me a challenge of braiding your hair blindly, with my hands behind your back? I’m willing to try if it means more of this...” he leaned in, a breath away from Billa’s lips. Her stomach growled loudly. 

“Perhaps another day?” she offered, blushing, her hand on her belly as if to keep it quiet. “Though it sounds terribly inefficient.” 

“It does, doesn’t it?” And with a smacking kiss, he helped her turn around to dress her hair. 

~~~~

Their host was back, and Thorin found he had very mixed emotions about that, but ultimately, it meant they could and would be on their way soon. Getting his betrothed away from Beorn’s attentions was an additional, happy,benefit. 

“Little Bunny is getting nice and fat again!” he boomed, and _poked her in the stomach._ Thorin’s hand itched for Orcrist. 

Beorn blinked several times, still staring at Billa. “And is courting the Black Wolf! Well, well!” and laughed his ridiculous laugh. 

“Black Wolf?” Billa asked faintly, backing away from range of Beorn’s poking hands and closer to Thorin. 

“Dwarves mate once, as wolves do, and Thorin Oakenshield is black-headed and leader of his pack,” he explained. “Black Wolf. Have a care, Little Bunny,” he said, not quite teasing. “That this Wolf does not eat you up.” 

“Mister Beorn!” Billa scolded, and took Thorin’s arm. 

If he were not their host….and apparently, Thorin’s demeanor communicated that, for all he had to do was growl, “Skinchanger….” and Beorn flipped his hands up, placating. 

“Of different worlds, Black Wolf. She is from a soft land.”

“And stronger than you think. I would rather take a heart blow than hurt her, not that it is your concern.” 

“You are my guests,” Beorn said, tilting his head in acknowledgment. “And I have said before, I do not like dwarves. But you have done a great service, Black Wolf, you and your company. The Goblin King is gone, and all his subjects in disarray, those that are left, fighting to be the new king. Some of the orcs hunting you have fled south, toward Dol Guldur, I think,” he shot a speaking glance to Gandalf at this. 

“But other tracks branch out to block the way, save one, one where they are loath to venture, I think certain they would find their doom there, and hope you will too. And I would rather have that dragon gone. He has slept these many years, but where will he go when he wakes for food? And as the wizard says, what if there is coming evil? So yes, I do have some concern for all of you. It would be best for your quest to succeed.” 

“Then you offer your help.” He tried not to let his relief show too much. 

Beorn gave him a long measuring look. “I do. Come. Let us speak of Mirkwood.” 

~~~~

It was startling to Billa, the difference in Thorin’s demeanor around Beorn. His old prickly, majestic self was certainly to the fore, even more so than when talking to Gandalf. It was more than just annoyance and male possessiveness, though she did hate Beorn’s poking at her belly, and if she was never called “Little Bunny” again, it would be too soon. 

So, she appreciated a bit of rescue there, since the skinchanger clearly wasn’t listening to female hobbity protests and discomfort. And it was clearer than ever that Thorin _hated_ having to ask for aid, proud as he was. But they would fail - and starve - without it. 

Billa listened as they talked over the particulars of Beorn’s largesse, which was impressive, including the loan of ponies to bring them to, but not through, Mirkwood, which caused a bit of grumbling from the company, and thunderous looks from Thorin.

“I would not send those under my care into that place,” Beorn said shortly. “It is poisoned, from what I do not know, but it is deep in the very earth of the place. If there were any other way, I would counsel you to avoid it entirely. You must keep to the paths, and you must not eat or drink of anything that lives or grows there.” 

Gandalf said in his genial, offhand manner, as he was lighting his pipe. “You are being quite generous in your supplies, with us all, good host. I wonder, though, if there is more foraging close to Mirkwood that is acceptable? It would be good to replenish what we can before entering the wood.” 

“You mean to hunt,” the skinchanger growled. Billa hoped she was imagining his teeth getting longer.

Gandalf inclined his head. “That could be part of it, yes, if there is such a place. I know it is not your way, and we would not dream of…” 

“Yes, yes,” Beorn said, waving Gandalf to a stop. “There is a place my lands end before the wood begins that is free from my care, and my creatures know not to venture into it. I do not like it.” 

“Of course you don’t, and we understand,” Balin said, matching Gandalf’s kind tone. “But if you cannot tell us how long it will take us to reach the other side...it would be best to supplement your bounty.” 

“My ponies will stop before a bend in the river. There is a good place to camp there.” 

“I believe we’ve been there before, my brother and I, many years ago. There was good fishing.” 

“I had not realized you were familiar with the area,” Beorn said heavily. 

Balin’s face got that strangely shuttered look she’d seen the day before. “We were seeking a way to Erebor, with Thorin’s father, Thrain, and a few others.” 

“How long ago was this?” 

“Slightly more than a hundred years.” Beside her, Billa could feel the tension rolling off of Thorin and nudged her knee against his gently for comfort. He settled his weight slightly closer to her, brushing her shoulder with his, but otherwise did not acknowledge her. 

“And clearly you did not travel on to your mountain,” Beorn said, brow furrowed. 

“Our king was taken from us by orcs,” Balin said, his face filling with sorrow. “Taken silently in the night as we slept, a sleep caused by some foul smoke on the wind. We looked as best we could, but eventually had to return to the Blue Mountains, to…” 

“To tell the Black Wolf his father was lost, and he had become the youngest king in several generations,” Beorn rumbled. 

“Aye. We sent out parties when we could, when there was word or rumor, but aye.” 

“Did you ever learn what had happened to him?” 

Billa, for a moment, was grateful he had asked, but then Gandalf darted a glance toward she and Thorin, and she knew that the answer would be a painful one to her beloved.

“I found King Thrain in the dungeons of Dol Guldur, years later,” Gandalf replied heavily. “I was following rumors myself of a dark presence there, but it had fled, leaving Thrain, and a few others who had already perished before I arrived, in the dungeons. He did not know me, or himself. And I, despite having seen him prior to his ill-fated trip, did not recognize him, he was so changed. It was decades after that, that I happened upon Thorin and realized who it was I had aided in his last hours.” 

“I was following a rumor that my father had been sighted,” Thorin said shortly. “And met the wizard in Bree. I told him the tale Balin has just related.” 

Billa settled her shoulder against Thorin’s, and he pressed into the touch lightly. 

Beorn looked at Thorin steadily for a long, quiet moment. “I have known the loss of family,” he said quietly, in the gentlest tone Billa had heard from him. “And to not know for many years is a hard thing. Wearing upon the spirit.” 

Thorin inclined his head sharply in acknowledgement, and held the skinchanger’s eyes.

“You must not hunt, this side of the river, when you reach the camping place. Do you understand?” 

Billa did not have to look around the table to see the dwarrow relax. 

“We do,” Thorin said, inclining his head. “And you have our thanks.” 

“The thanks I wish is that the dragon be gone, Black Wolf,” Beorn said, weariness in his voice. “Now, Little Bunny, my sheep tell me you would like to do some baking for your journey.” 

“Yes, the dwarrow have a waybread….I think I can improve on it a bit.” 

Several stirred and looked hopeful, and Kili said in not quite a whisper. “Anything you might do. _Anything_.” 

There were snorts of agreement, even from Thorin, who seemed be sinking into his thoughts. 

“Then you are most welcome - again - to my stores.” He smiled slightly to take the sting out of his words.

Billa blushed. “Your creatures have been most generous with us, as have you. This has been a lovely respite, truly.” 

Beorn laughed. “Little Bunny is a diplomat!” 

~~~~

Thorin was silent the entire walk to the training pitch, though he was still thoughtful, and tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. 

“Dearest,” she said softly. “I am so sorry to hear about your father.” 

“I cannot speak of it easily,” he said stiffly. “I apologize.” 

“I am not asking you to, my love. Not until you wish to.” 

“Thank you.” He sighed. “And to trade upon his memory for food….” 

“I do not think…” 

“I cannot,” he said abruptly. “And in this mood I should absent myself, beloved. Please excuse me.” He kissed her hand, dropped it, turned on his heel and walked away from her without a glance. She watched his back, dismayed, until she heard Dwalin clear his throat loudly behind her. 

“Best leave him be in this sort of mood, lass,” he said gruffly. “He’ll find his way out soon enough.” 

“And that’s the best thing to do? I think he has the wrong idea about trading on the story for food….” 

Dwalin sighed. “It’s easier than remembering his da was still half-mad with grief and anger when we set out to seek a way into Erebor.”

“Oh. Does he worry about it often, the madness?” 

“Lass. You should talk to _him_ about this."

“Do you truly think he would tell me?” 

Dwalin snorted. “No. But he doesn’t tell me, either. I do not know if he cannot, or if he blames me for not protecting his father better." At Billa's questioning look he said, "Thorin especially asked me to go, and I asked Thrain’s leave under the guise of wanting to look after my brother." 

She put a hand on his arm. "From what I can see he trusts you deeply." 

"Not enough to trust me with discussing the madness. He did not tell me of overhearing the elf."

"I was the one eavesdropping, and he walked behind me, just in time….. The look on his face, Dwalin...and he walked away much as he did just now, without once meeting my eye." 

"That sounds about right. Explains his battle dreams in Rivendell, too." They both sighed. 

"You are confiding in me a great deal, Master Dwalin," Billa said softly. "I am grateful for, and a little surprised by, your trust." 

He gave her a wry smile. "My lady, I am his Captain. You will be his queen. You've proven yourself steady, for all your rough start. We will need to trust one another." 

"Still, I am grateful." She stood tip toe (and yanked on his arm so he would bend) to kiss his cheek. "And for literally leaping to my aid last night. I was quite upset, but I heard what you said. I am glad to have such a friend." 

Dwalin's head turned bright red, as did his ears, and he sketched a rough bow. "My lady." 

"Oh, I've only seen Ori make you blush that deeply. I wonder if you'll tell me why?" she teased gently.

"No," he growled, blushing even more fiercely. Billa sighed and patted him again.

“I'll leave it for now. I was hoping for some good gossip to distract me. She looked off toward where Thorin had stalked off. "I wish I knew what to do.” 

“Well, for now, come hit something.” 

Billa snorted and looked up at him. He shrugged. 

“It helps.” 

~~~~

It did not take Thorin long to realize he was being an ass, walking away from Billa as he had, but he did not know how to better master himself. To anyone else he would have said something cutting to push them away, and he had promised not to do such with her. 

It still stung, the wizard’s tale, to know his father had been gone five years after he’d left Thorin with the leadership of their people. He’d known it, somehow, but still, when word came of a lone dwarf wandering in Dunland, even a century later, he had to try...

_”There is a way to get inside the mountain undetected,” his father said, tapping the map on the table before them. “At least I can recover the Arkenstone, and that, for sure, will get us what we need to take the mountain back; only through showing our divine right to rule can we bring the dwarf lords together and take the mountain.”_

_Thrain sat back, playing with his ring of office, his remaining eye glowing with purpose and triumph, as if his victory was already assured. His grandfather had had much the same light in his eye when speaking of retaking Moria. A stone dropped into Thorin’s heart._

_“Adad, I wish, I _want_ to go home as much as you, but I think it would be best if we remained in Erid Luin a bit longer, built up our fortunes more before undertaking such a quest. The dragon...“ _

_“That’s the beauty of it, my lad!” he father twinkled at him. “We only need a small strike force to gain entrance, kill the dragon if we can, and if not, steal the Arkenstone away to return in force with the assembled might of the dwarrow!”_

_All Thorin could see was rows upon rows of the dead after the last battle the line of Durin called for the dwarf lords. His father’s idea was madness. Both of his father’s ideas were madness. And he did not dare shift his eyes to Balin, to verify whether he heard the madness, too, or it was just the private worry of a son._

_"You think we truly need the stone to gather our kin? We did not..."_

_"And look what ruin it brought us!" Adad hissed, twisting Durin's ring on his finger faster and faster, his eye with that strange light of conviction. "Bereft of our greatest treasure, look at the ruin! No, we must have The Heart of the Mountain in our possession, only then can we take back Erebor."_

_Thorin mustered up a pale smile and laid his hand atop his father's, stilling the ring, and the now-bloody hand underneath. "You have one Heart of the Mountain, Adad. And you should have Òin see to this."_

_Thrain rolled his eyes and harrumphed. "I never knew this ring was so bloody heavy."_

_Either way, Thrain was King, and if this was truly the course he would take, Thorin would be the dutiful heir, the good son, and lead in his absence._

_There was a dread upon him, though, that Thrain's absence would be long._

He never did find out who that particular unfortunate dwarf was, wandering in Dunland. Or if there had ever been a wanderer. Thorin had gone off, a century after his father had disappeared on the mere chance… 

And here he was, instead of finding him, taking up his father’s mad quest, though he did not have the delusion that gaining the Arkenstone would make the dwarf lords bow down or come to his aid. 

He gazed at his hands, the image of Thrain’s, graced only with the first simple ring of his forging and the ring of the Crown Prince. He did not have Durin’s ring, it had been lost with his father, but both past and future weighed heavy enough on Thorin’s hands to chafe them bloody.

When he had met Gandalf in Bree, Thorin knew that something was dying inside of him. He had done his best for their people, done his best to lead after the wounds his father took after his grandfather fell during the battle of Azanulbizar, and had done his best to lead after his father’s abandonment. Not knowing - the skinchanger was right - wore upon the spirit. And he had nursed his anger, disappointment and longing for home for so long...it was nearly the only thing left of him. 

Hope was but the smallest ember, dying fast, until Gandalf put a map and then a key before him. And then, there was Billa, his One, a hope of a different sort. And unfortunately, because there was love and hope with Billa, there was now…. 

He must know mastery over this fear. He must, for his own sake and for his future wife, _know_ he would not fall, that the madness would not take him. It would not. 

Even more than for himself, he did not want Billa to see him drift away as his father and grandfather had, watch their warm gazes drift inward, watch them wander away to where treasures were stored, watch their hearts and hands reach out for gems and precious metals and not the outstretched arms of their kin. To give her that heartache…

He shook himself. He would not fall. He would not fail. He would not fail her. He would not fail his family. He would not fail himself. 

Squaring his shoulders, he went to watch his nephews training, deciding it would be best not to trouble Billa’s concentration for the moment. 

The stone of worry did not leave his heart, though, along with knowledge he should not have left her so, in the middle of the lawn. By the time training was over for the lads, she'd gone for her bath. Smiling to himself, he ducked into his room to consult a particular piece of paper.

~~~~

He found her gathering raspberries, around the corner of Beorn’s hall, sunlight in her hair. 

“Hello, _kurdûnuh_ ,” she said softly, reaching for the flowers in his outstretched hand, and giving him her berry bowl. As he set it aside in the grass, his heart thudded almost painfully in his chest at what she named him, and he felt such a swell of affection for her as she read his flowers, as she gave him a shy, pleased nod of forgiveness and acceptance.

“And I apologize as well, my love,” Billa murmured, one hand nervously twined in her skirt. “I should not have…” 

“Been kind? Been considerate enough to note my grief and lend support? Truly, my Pearl, I am fortunate in such mistreatment. I was, as you have named me, a majestic idiot.” 

“My heart,” she was smiling as he bent down to kiss her, and the warm jewel just under his heart, the bond of his soul to hers surged, bright and shining. It caught his breath, and he trembled. 

“ _Kurdûnizu_ , _kurdûnizu, hôfukinh._ ” he whispered against her lips, and took her into his arms. 

She trembled as well, and as he took her mouth, he realized, bone deep, how right it was to come to her, the other half of his soul. How foolish he had been. He kept the kiss soft, tender, grateful, holding in his heart his relief at finding her, accepting her (however late), his gratitude for her kind, generous nature, so different from his own angry heart. 

Thorin half expected her to melt, surrender into his kiss as she had in the past, but she stood on her toes and held him firmly but sweetly, offering comfort and strength, her arm coming to rest on his shoulder, her hand coming to cup the nape of his neck with a tenderness so sweet it made his throat tight. 

For the second time in as many days, he was the one who surrendered into her embrace, allowed himself to be cared for, and this time with a sense of relief too profound for tears. “It has been so long,” he whispered. “So long since I did not have to hold myself apart in sadness or grief.” 

Billa gasped and held him more tightly. “My love.” 

“I can’t remember the last time that I wasn’t a king or a brother, son, uncle. Those closest to me are my advisors, my captains. No one with whom I could just…” 

“Put responsibility down and be Thorin?” 

“I do have responsibility to you as well, Billa.” 

“Let me put that a different way. “Put down the _crown_ , and be Thorin.” 

“Yes.” 

“I am glad, my heart, I am so glad I can be that for you.” Her eyes were so joyful. She caught his breath in so many ways. 

“To be loved by you is a wondrous thing, Billa Baggins,” he whispered, tracing a thumb over her cheekbone. 

“Thorin,” she breathed, and her eyes began to sparkle with mischief. “I’m a hobbit, and that means comfort.” 

“Does it now?” he purred lazily, and when she flushed, he traced the blush from her cheek, down her neck, to just below her collarbone. “I look forward,” he whispered low, in her ear. “To finding out exactly how far down you blush.” 

She sighed and went so soft in his arms, so melting sweet, he had to feast on her mouth, still tart with raspberries, until she trembled for him. He tore himself away and pressed his forehead to hers. 

“I look forward,” she said breathlessly into the space between them. “Into seeing you without black bruises on your skin. Without bandages covering half your torso.” 

His head swirled with images of her hands on his bare skin, and he had to grit his teeth against a wave of desire. “You just wish to pull on my chest hair, like Kili.” 

“Entirely _unlike_ Kili.” 

All he could do was stand there, hands flexing on her arms, and breathe deeply, trying not to think, not to imagine, trying not to haul her into his arms and just….

“It’s getting harder, isn’t it?” she said in a small, rueful voice. Thorin began to shake silently with helpless laughter. 

“Oh my goodness,” she yelped, flustered. “Oh my goodness.” She began giggling, and he scooped her into his arms to hug joyfully, swaying back and forth. “I mean _more difficult_.” 

“Both, my Pearl, very much both.” They bent a bit too far and his breath hitched slightly, his ribs twinging. She stopped swaying immediately and leaned back to look him in the eye, concerned. 

“It’s fine,” he said, smoothing her hair away from her face. “Just a slight pull.” 

“Beloved,” she said in the soft tone that meant grace and conviction and bravery. She put a gentle hand on his chest. “If it were not for these deep bruises, and your ribs…” 

Thorin’s mouth went dry. “Truly?” 

She nodded, shy and happy. “Not only is there love and desire, but you came to comfort me last night, and then came for me to comfort _you_ just now. I cannot tell you how deeply that affects me and how much I treasure it. Best to say this; the more we walk together, plan together, _wake_ together...I see us becoming the true companions that we both want to be. And the next step…” 

He pressed her hand on his chest gently. “Billa, please.” He kissed her softly in apology and pressed his forehead to hers. “Just the thought that you are ready to call for me...” He stayed there, breathing her in. 

“It’s both for me, as well,” she whispered. 

“Hmmm?” 

“Difficult….and, um.” She went oddly tight under his hands and her voice was strained “Harder.” 

A breathless moment and she gave a very inelegant snort, and then they were giggling together, Billa smacking lightly at shoulders as she wheezed. Thorin had to dash tears from his eyes before he bent to kiss her again, or at least try to kiss her, because little snickers kept popping out and she could not stop smiling. Finally, they just leaned together, holding one another up as their laughter ebbed. 

“ _Well_ , I don’t know about you, but I needed _that_ ,” she said with a happy groan, which from her lovely throat sounded utterly carnal. Thorin choked, starting up again. His legs gave out about the third time Billa asked, “What? _What?_ ” He lay back in the grass, snickering at the sky, happier than he could ever remember being.

~~~~

Billa, after a long consultation with both her friend the sheep and Beorn (who provided translation when needed) she offered to make a cobbler of summer berries with custard sauce for dessert that evening, in partial thanks for their hospitality. 

“Simple enough when I’m doing the baking for the company,” she said, smiling. 

To her astonishment, Thorin, who was attempting not to behave like a thundercloud around their host unless provoked, rumbled, “I cannot recommend that custard sauce highly enough.” 

While Beorn laughed his booming laugh, she flushed to her toes, and looked over her shoulder at her beloved, who had unbent enough to scratch the sheep’s ears after she nudged at his hands. He gave Billa a mild look, but she could see his ears were blood red. 

Before the skinchanger could make a comment about their mild flirting, Thorin surprised Billa yet again by offering varied services of the company; whatever might be done to thank their host. 

“My betrothed is correct; this has been a great respite on our quest, and you are expending many of your stores to aid us. It would be our honor to secure your home against the winter. What can be done over slow weeks by one, can be done quickly by many. We have skills to offer, from blacksmithing to skilled spinners and weavers. And a gardener,” he added, nodding at Billa. 

“And her apprentice,” Billa said pertly. 

Beorn laughed again. “Surprise upon surprise, Black Wolf. Kindly said, and kindly offered. I would not have asked, but left you to your rest and your own preparations. Your road will be hard, ere long.” 

“Let my people do something familiar, then, use their skills to offer thanks. Tools, if you lack what is needed, can be improvised. We do best when we have work at hand. Work today, and perhaps in the morning, then rest before we depart day after tomorrow.” 

Beorn stroked his beard and regarded Thorin a moment. “Very well. If you will walk with me, I can show you what needs to be done.” 

“Oh, that’s lovely!” Billa said, clapping her hands briskly. “Fili and Kili can go with you should there be anything that can be done _immediately_.” She gave Thorin a look and waved at the nephews, who put away the weapons they were tending. She turned to Beorn and took a deep breath.

“Thorin’s got some rather nasty cracked ribs and…well, I’m afraid I’m going to be rather rude and say if either one of you does anything to impede healing, there will be…nettles. I won’t say where, but there will be nettles. And no sauces for anyone. ” 

The sheep leaned against Billa affectionately and looked at her with large, adoring eyes, while Beorn guffawed and Thorin was torn between laughter and mortification. 

“Well, yes, nettles for you, too,” Billa said to the sheep. “But for them only if they do something silly like have to have their stitches redone _again_.” She let her eyebrows communicate how very bad an idea that would be.

Thorin gathered the remains of his dignity and bowed slightly. “You have my word, beloved.” 

“And mine, Miss Boggins!” Kili said brightly as they joined them. “What are we promising?” 

“Not to be idiots,” Billa sighed affectionately. “And be Thorin’s hands and arms and such for now, so his ribs can heal. He’s offered to help Mister Beorn get his hall squared away for winter.” 

“Glad to do it,” Fili said, nodding to the skinchanger. “Done and done, my lady.” Fili said. 

“Thank you, dears.” 

“You have a good pack, Black Wolf,” Beorn said thoughtfully, and Billa caught a hint of wistfulness in his eyes. “And a fine mate.” 

“I am most fortunate,” Thorin said, his voice quiet but proud. “Please, show us what we may do.” 

Thorin kissed her hand again as they departed, and over his shoulder, the skinchanger called, “Make lots of custard, Little Bunny! It sounds very fine!” 

Billa watched them for a moment, absently scratching her sheep friends’ ears, and smelled the scent of pipeweed on the breeze. She turned and caught Gandalf’s eye. 

“Hiding in the shadows, Gandalf?” He strolled from under the porch eaves, utterly unrepentant. 

“Not so much hiding as witnessing,” he said, twinkling at her. 

“Witnessing what?” 

“Something which lightens my heart,” he said, and puffed on his pipe contentedly. “Lightens it very much indeed." And with no further explanation, he inclined his head and wandered off. 

“Wizards,” Billa huffed to the sheep. 

~~~~

It was good to work, or at least supervise work, Thorin found. It kept his thoughts from veering from the tragedy of his father to the delight of Billa, neither of which were comfortable subjects if pondered overlong, the one freezing him with grief, the other firing his blood.

Evening was met with pleasant weariness, the sort that settled in the bones and promised good rest. 

They made a party of dinner, the company, which they did at the slightest provocation, but careful, this time, not to waste any food by throwing it about. Beorn coaxed stories out of them (it was not hard, really) and Bofur and Billa competed to tell the most ridiculous stories on themselves. Truly, it was a wonder that his beloved, apparently quite the adventurous scamp, had survived to her coming of age.

Billa, for the moment, was winning with her tales of an escaped and angry pig, deprived of some rare mushroom or other, treeing Billa for most of an afternoon, while she pelted it with acorns. Her cousin arrived and was also treed, then another cousin, until there were four of them in the trees and not enough truffle to go around for their troubles, apparently. 

“Finally, while the pig was giving Faradoc the once over, I had her where I wanted her, in the afternoon sun, and I gathered my acorns and took aim, one, two, three, four, five, right in the bottom, where, ahem, it would hurt the most, and she was off like a shot, squealing her way home. I’d wouldn’t have been able to make that shot without Faradoc mucking about trying to ‘help’, and drawing her attention away.” 

“Sounds like you’ve got good aim, Miss Baggins,” Ori said. 

“Oh, I’m a fair hand at conkers - a throwing game - and the birds around know to fly off my berry bushes the moment I bend down for a few stones.” 

“You should try my slingshot. I bet you’d be brilliant with it.” 

“I might do at that, thank you, Ori.” 

This made Ori blush with pleasure and Dwalin beam with pride. Thorin took a moment to silently encourage his captain to get on with his courtship of the young scribe. Dwalin scowled at him and looked away. 

“Enough talk of weapons, dear lady,” Bofur said. “And tell us what you made with the...what was it?” 

“Truffle. It’s a little odd shaped fungus, very delicious, and you can find it around certain types of trees. Oak and beech and hazel, particularly. A bit stronger than mushrooms, and they have all sorts of different flavors, you know, like wine sometimes tastes of oak or strawberries or somesuch. Fry it up in butter or pop it in some oil to flavor for a bit. Lovely stuff. I like particularly to make a decadent breakfast with eggs, herbs and truffles, or nip them in a potato mash." 

Beorn smacked his hand gently on the table. “That is it. I must have some of your cooking, Little Bunny. Where is the cobbler and custard?” 

It was brought out to much fanfare and cheering, and Billa flushed pink with pleasure over the praise. Billa caught his eye and smiled as she served his plate and put several heaping spoons of custard on it. He found himself recalling her face in the firelight when he set her betrothal beads and wanted nothing more than to spirit her away upstairs, to kiss and hold and savor her.

She caught his thoughts, it seemed. Her eyes darkened and dropped demurely, her breath quick in her throat as she settled next to him with her own dessert, the lift of her breasts, the grace of her body almost too beautiful to bear. 

“Thorin?” she murmured. 

“My poor face is eating cobbler,” he whispered back, and she shot him a laughing, ardent glance, and settled her shoulder so it would brush his. He bent to breathe into her ear. “I must kiss you soon.” 

“Yes,” she whispered back. “You must.” 

He gripped his spoon so hard it nearly broke.

Bofur drew out his flute when he was done, and Bifur one he had made that day. The evening turned to song, and wound down with some slower tunes, as the mead flowed free. Beorn even sang one in his gruff voice of longing and family and home, and so they of course sang “Far Over the Misty Mountains Cold,” and Billa’s hand stole into his as he sang, and she leaned against his side. 

An air of longing and determination hung over the room as they finished, and more than one pair of eyes met his, bright with conviction, with purpose. Fili met his eyes and was so settled, so sure, Thorin’s heart swelled with pride. 

He would not fail them. He could not. 

“A fine song, it is a fine song,” Beorn rumbled. “You and your pack sing your war chant well, Black Wolf. I understand a bit better. Not that I value gold as such….but...well, we have spoken of loss before. My thanks. And I bid you good night. Do not leave the hall until morning.” And with that, he stalked off, presumably to prowl the borders of his property until morning. 

They walked upstairs hand in hand, and he drew her to the small fireplace to settle, to build a small fire, to hold her before sleep. 

“I was promised a kiss,” she whispered, breaking the silent spell around them. He turned her in his arms and sank into her, holding in his heart his gratitude for her this day, and apologies for his darkened mood. 

“You are sad,” she said softly as the kiss ended, stroking his cheek. “Your father?” 

“My father, the quest.” He took a deep breath and folded her into his arms to whisper in her ear. “We tremble on the edge of an axe, Billa. Strike well and regain our home, strike ill...and all will burn. All will burn.” He buried his head in her shoulder. 

“My love,” she said. “We would be foolish not to see both sides. But there is hope.” 

“There is hope.” 

“Then we will hold to that, and plan as best we can.” 

“You are being awfully reasonable,” he said after a long while. 

“It’s my turn,” she replied simply, and he curled her close as he could. 

“Come,” she said. “It is always worse at night. Let’s go sing away the shadows.” She backed out of his embrace and stood. He looked up at her, bewildered, and she leaned to stroke his cheek. 

“Shadows gather on your brow and in your eyes, my love. I offer companionship and rest.” 

He caught her hand and tried to find his breath. “You mean…” 

“I mean that Dwalin mentioned sometimes you have battle dreams when you grieve. I would come to you, of course, if you had one, as you did for me….I thought we might try singing away the shadows _before_ a dream comes, rest together, and perhaps you will sleep sweetly. It helped me so much, to have you near. And,” her dimple appeared. “We avoid Dwalin roaring into the room wearing nothing but axes.” 

“Your plan has merit,” he replied soberly. “I think I can only bear that sight once in a great while.” 

“Will you come, then?” 

All he could do was look at her in gratitude and nod, then pressed his mouth to her palm a long, lingering moment. When he released her, she touched his hair gently. 

“I’ll leave the door open a crack when I’m ready.” 

He nodded again and watched her make her way down the hall. She turned to offer a smile and slipped through the door. In a near daze, he banked the fire and got himself to his room, where he prepared to spend the night at her side. 

Billa had built up the fire as he had the night before, bathing the room in warmth and light, he crawled in beside her, atop the covers again, flipped the counterpane over himself, and, after looking for permission in her tender, trusting expression, gathered her into his arms. 

“You will not rest on _my_ shoulder?” she said, humor in her voice. 

“Far too many temptations at hand,” he murmured into her hair. She snorted softly, then snuggled into his side. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

“For?” 

“Letting me help. I - ” 

“I did not know if I could,” he said in a rush, his voice rough. “I. It has been so long. I thought. But somehow, Billa…somehow now...” he pressed kiss after kiss to her hair, and reached for her hand to clasp over his heart. 

“When I sang in your home. I was trying to fight my longing for you. I sang to remind the company what we sought, what we could be again, sang to strengthen my own resolve, but mainly, I sang to say goodbye to you, Belladonna Baggins, my One.” 

She choked back a small, sad cry, and he stroked her hair, soothing and slow. 

“I longed to stay with you, lay down my burdens for a moment and revel in the comfort of your home, revel in meeting the other half of my soul at last, before taking you with me. But I could not bear to do it, could not bear to think of you, soft as I thought you were, out in the wild, likely to fall under my watch. I could not. I could not bear to lose another, so I would keep you safe, even if it meant I would never know you, love you. And so I pushed you away and poured my grief into that song.” 

“ _Kurdûnuh_ ” she whispered, voice anguished, and if a heart could break from being loved, his was breaking. 

“ _Kurdûnizu, ghivasheluh, kurdûnizu_ ” he replied, his mouth trembling against her forehead. She tipped her face up for a kiss and he took her mouth gently. 

“I mean to offer thanks, Billa. To have you here with me now, that you come to me to comfort and be comforted, that trust, I. I have not allowed myself to hope...And...that you followed me... that you accepted me, forgave me when I was done being a majestic idiot.” 

Snorting softly, she kissed his shoulder. “You really were.” 

“Now, I would not be parted from you for the world.” 

“Nor I you, my love.” She tipped up her face for another kiss. 

“Sing for me?” he asked. 

“Gladly,” she replied, smiling tenderly. “But one thing, Thorin. Let that night go now. Please stop grieving about what never happened. That time, those thoughts, those shadows are done. We will be wed, very soon, and here I am.” 

He shifted his head on the pillow and looked into her sweet face. “Here you are,” he said, wondering. "My Pearl.

“I followed you,” she cupped his cheek and held his eyes. “I forgave you. Hear me, _kurdûnuh._ "

Thorin nodded, scarcely able to breathe. 

“You are safe,” she said, looking deeply into his eyes. “You are safe.” She leaned in and kissed him. He closed his eyes, his breathing ragged and wet, and she curled around him, stroking his hair, and began to sing. 

~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About truffles and pigs: apparently truffles give off a smell similar to a healthy male pig, so if you've got a female truffle hunter, what she's smelling is an extremely attractive bloke who is oddly underground. Imagine her annoyance when she discovers the bloke is a bunch of fungus. I'd be right snippy, me. 
> 
> Where I learned that, I don't know. I think "A Life in Provence" or something I read 20 years ago.


	11. A quick note (don't worry!!)

Hey y'all. I am still working on this, but the next chapters will be delayed a bit. I'm doing some pretty intensive physical therapy and neuromuscular retraining (think ergonomics for your whole body) and it's _exhausting _and leaves me often a bit jelly brained. Basically I'm relearning how to walk, sit, stand, sleep, hold things, exercise, bend and twist. Long years of various injuries (breaks, sprains and ripped joints) poor posture, repetitive stress injuries and such have come home to roost and I'm trying to make sure the next 20-30 years of my life is not spent in misery and on pain meds.__

__Things are going great, but. Ow. And so tired. I hit a point in this therapy last summer that was like this, and it lasted about a month before it all shook out and I stopped being so wiped. That's what I'm hoping for here._ _

__This note is to both assure you I won't leave you hanging, and to take a bit of pressure off myself. Rest assured, there is far more Pearl of the Evening written than unwritten. It's just taking me some time to link everything up. The good news is I'm writing Chapters 11 & 12 simultainiously. That means one last day at Beorn's and then THE RIVER. _ _

__I have a wee bit of the next chapter ready, the rest of the night and the next moring wake up. I could post that, or would you like to wait to see how the day plays out?_ _


	12. Of Balms and the Capacity of the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the wee chapter I mentioned in the previous post. It may be for a bit that the chapters will be short, like my energy levels. I meant to do for these last Beorn's Hall chapters, one chapter = one day. That's not how it's working out. Rest assured I'm still writing away. 
> 
> Oh, I should tell you what happens: it didn't quite work, the pre-emptive singing. 
> 
> ~~~~

Something woke her, and Billa opened her eyes to find Thorin tangled in fire and moonlight, beautiful and frowning, breath hitching behind clenched teeth, muffling sounds of distress. His eyes darted behind his lids, minnow quick; he was dreaming, and it was not a good dream. 

He’d pulled away, far too close to turning on his bad side, so she scooted over, wrapped her arms around him as best she could and said, not a whisper or a shout, but soft and firm, “You are safe, Thorin, you are safe.” 

Billa dashed the sleep sand from her eyes and thought of the previous morning, and how joy lit his face when she named him, “my heart” in his language. “ _Kurdûnuh, kurdûnuh_ ,” she said a bit more loudly. “You are safe.” 

A gasp, a drawn-out, pained sigh and he turned to clutch her to him, wrap himself around her, his face pressed against her throat. “You are safe,” she kept murmuring in a low, soothing voice as she stroked his hair, his arms, his upper back. He was deliciously heavy and warm, and smell of cloves and Oin’s herbs were all around her, as was his clean spiced-earth scent, and her heart ached for him. “You are safe, _ghivashel_ , beloved, dearest one, _kurdûnuh_ ,you are safe.” 

“Billa,” he ground out, his voice hoarse. “Billa, I…I...” 

“Shhh,” she replied, holding him close. “You are safe. You were dreaming.” 

“I should not lean on you so,” he whispered, sounding shamed. "At the very least, I am crushing you." He moved to disentangle himself from her and she held fast. 

“You are not. And Thorin...it touches me so deeply, my love, when you reach for me like that. Without words, it tells me how much I am in your heart. If you’d rather stay...you are welcome.” 

Two unsteady breaths, he relaxed somewhat, curled her closer, and again pressed his face against her throat, tucked into her neck even more tightly than before as if to block out the light. She rested her hand on his cheek, shading his eyes. 

“Is the light too bright, my love? Shall I bank the fire...or put something over the window?” 

“No, no,” he said, the words dragging from his throat. “Shadows from the dream pursue me,” he explained. “You. You are real.” He inhaled deeply. “Lavender and honey.” 

She kissed his head to thank him. “I am enjoying having lavender oil again for my hair. It reminds me of my garden.” 

He gave a great, shuddering sigh and said haltingly, “White roses, near the door….P-pinks, I believe, foxgloves by the stair…” 

“Well remembered, my love.” If he wanted to talk about gardening until he was calmer instead of singing, she had an _ocean_ of knowledge and could talk all night. “And that’s just the front entrance. I wish you could have seen the back garden.” She shifted and settled him a bit closer to her heart, and smiled at his easier-sounding sigh. “There’s a portion I plant every year for vegetables and such…” 

“Your prized tomatoes.” 

"Dearest,” she said, charmed as ever when he recalled such little details, and kissed his hair again. “The part of the garden I love best is around the back. It’s like a long courtyard partially dug into the back of the hill, very cleverly done by my father, if I must say so. My parents planted a little nook at the end, surrounded by hedges, full of roses and fruit trees.“

“You can pluck yourself a handful of fruit and go sit on a little bench to have a bit of peace and a nibble, in the summer, and it’s always cool there with a nice breeze. And at night, you can see the stars, so many stars. I always thought I...if I found my love, I'd take him there to serve a courting picnic. You see, every year, my father gave my mother some sort of flower that meant “love.” If Beorn’s garden is flirty, my mother’s garden was about…. if you’ll pardon the pun, the full flower of love.” 

Thorin snorted softly, and Billa hugged him a bit. 

“So you can imagine, it is a riot of many-colored roses, and lavender and asters and so many things, but chiefly roses...oh, in the height of summer it smells so lovely there, Thorin. If we wed in Hobbiton, I could look to no better place to find blossoms to weave your wedding wreath.” She kissed his forehead. “You would look very fine with red-tipped white roses and ivy.” She pressed another kiss to his hair. “Something simple and elegant, perhaps a little...majestic.” 

“White roses with red tips. You’ve not told me what that combination means.” 

“White for…” she said leadingly. 

“Purity.” 

“Red for…”

“Love. So pure love and ivy for marriage and fidelity?” He snuggled into her again and gave her throat a soft kiss. 

“It also means unity, you know, of passion and spirit, at least to me, very appropriate for marriage. So," her voice dropped shyly. "I'd choose roses in full-flower, because that means I'm also grateful, which I could say in other ways, but I think, in this case, a simple design can be strong...so my wreath for you..."

He sucked in a sharp breath. "I am grateful to be marrying my One, as well, _ghivasheluh_.” He held her tightly, his breath warm on her neck, his lips just barely brushing her skin. 

"That and the colors would be wonderful in your dark hair.” 

One soft kiss to her throat, two. “You would only weave the one wreath? Would I make one for you?” 

“Yes, with flowers that remind you of me, and then send it to where I am preparing for the wedding, usually my parents' home, where I’d scuttle off to prepare my half of the feast. Then my family would lead me and the food to the home you built and I furnished - if we were following our traditions, since you asked me, though to be completely honest, we’d be idiots to give up Bag End - and we would throw a party for our guests, and at the end of the dinner, if after making a home and putting together a huge dinner party from the garden we planted and tended ourselves hasn’t put us off one another, we would wed.” 

“Have you been to any weddings where the couple parted?” He was beginning to relax in her arms, his muscles less corded with tension, and Billa cast a grateful glance to the ceiling. 

“One. Bluebell Cotton threw a quite the fit when her betrothed Tom Brownlock insisted on bringing out red wine for the fish course, and they got into a screaming match of annoyances they’d just kept bottled up and Bell tossed her wreath in his face and stormed off. She did settle down a few days later when Tom came ‘round her parents', just utterly devastated. They mended their fences and married quietly with their immediate family present. They’d stripped their garden for the feast, after all.” 

“The guests remained and ate the feast….that seems unfeeling.” 

“Well, it would have been a waste of good food, and Tom insisted. Though, I admit it was rather awkward and subdued. Once Tom had reached the end of being in company and slunk off to the smial, everyone quietly cleaned up as best we could, taking down the tables and stacking the plates without disturbing him and left when his parents thanked us for coming.” 

“We are taught to work our differences as quickly as possible,” Thorin murmured. “One of the lessons from the rights and duties of marriage is to try to mend hurts before sleeping, for an angry, cold bed is comfortable for no one. Easier said,” he added dryly. “You may have noticed dwarrow tend to carry grudges.” 

“ _Really_ ,” she drawled, and felt him smile against her skin. She shifted under him comfortably, taking a moment to enjoy how he felt in her arms. 

He sighed, slow and deep. “Pearl.” 

“My heart.” Sensing his shifted mood, she remained otherwise silent, stroked his hair, kissed his forehead slowly, then let her lips remain, resting against his skin. He stroked her waist gently and then hugged her to him again.

“I dreamt I was the one who found my father, not the wizard, and he did not know me. And I found him not in the dungeon in Dol Guldur, but chained inside the treasure room of Erebor. Half-chained to a pillar so he could touch some treasure around him, but not break free. He’d chafed and split his his skin and nails badly trying to break the golden chains, not easy, for dwarrow have tough hides. Weak and dirty with open wounds...” 

“Oh, Thorin,” Billa breathed, a lump in her throat and tears in her eyes just imagining it. Thorin paused for a long moment, clearly taking deep breaths to calm himself. 

“Worse, he would not let me help him, but demanded I bring him his...” Thorin’s voice cracked slightly. “Bring him his son, demanded it over and over, and in his pitiful state, struck me with the slack of his chains and his ruined hands to drive me back.” 

Billa just hung on, holding him tightly. 

“He hurt himself, over and over, trying to struggle toward the hoard beyond his reach, struggle to get free, throwing himself against the pillar stone, until his body was as broken as his mind, fighting me every inch, and at last, died in my arms, cursing me, begging me to bring him the Heart of the Mountain.”

“He wanted the Heart of the Mountain, he said, over and over. That only it would restore him. The quest - and this is in life, not the dream - the quest he took was to secure the stone if he could not kill the dragon and secure Erebor. He believed having it would somehow convince the other dwarf lords to join him in retaking the mountain. My grandfather had said it was proof of our divine right to rule, and Father...Father, in his madness, latched on to that idea.” 

“In my dream, Father cursed me for not seeking the stone, though we were _in_ the treasure room, where my grandfather dropped it in our escape. In the dream I could not find it, and was far more concerned with him. He cursed me for not seeking it, then cursed me for keeping it from him or trying to steal it.” 

“And when he died, I was…” his voice broke. “...I was relieved. His wounds, how much his body had wasted. His madness. I did not know how to care for him. He would not _let_ me care for him. Dwarrow grow stronger, tougher with age, not the slow dwindling of men. He was so strong, so strong he beat himself to death, b-battering against the pillar that trapped him, so utterly mad. Billa,” he choked out a lone sob, and buried his face in her neck. “What sort of son am I to be relieved?” 

“Are you still talking of the dream, or….?” 

“Both,” he breathed, his breath hitching, and they lay tangled together until he could breathe easily. “When I heard of his death...when Gandalf told me. I felt sorrow and relief mingled. Relief he had not been wandering mad for a century. Relief he wasn’t alone when he died. That he was no longer suffering, no longer a shadow of himself...and the dream reflected my true thoughts; in the face of his madness….I was _helpless_.” 

Billa hugged him for a long moment, stroking his hair and shoulders in the same sort of slow, gentle caress he used to comfort her. “It is the hardest way to lose someone you love, I believe.” She pressed her cheek to his hair and offered quietly, “When my mother faded after my father’s death, I felt the same helplessness. She went so far into her thoughts, into her memories of him, she scarcely spoke. And then she stopped speaking entirely, and just...drifted away.“

“And you said you sang to her, to try to catch her interest,” he murmured, and sighed heavily, clearly dismayed. “And I remind you of that pain tonight....” 

“Shh, shh, my turn to comfort, and I tell you this not to air my own hurts, but...let you know I hear you, I think I understand a little, and share your sorrow, my love. Now. Mama. I could take care of her physical needs, but…” her voice thickened a little at the memory. “There was a point where I realized...Mama was already gone, and I was grieving for her…” She had to stop and master her breath. 

“Grieving while she still breathed. When she was gone, I felt relief, too, that she was no longer suffering. And that I was no longer suffering, too. It doesn’t mean you didn’t love him, or I didn’t love my mother. ” 

Thorin took a deep breath, sniffed a bit and let out a careful sigh, his mood easing. “Yes, that is how it was. Right there and slipping away. Though Adad was not as ill as your mother when he left on his quest. But I knew he was not whole.” He held her a long time, curled around her, face tucked in the crook of her neck. “You ease me, like a balm on my spirit, my Pearl. That is not the first time I have had that dream. It is the first time have spoken if it.” 

“I…” she shifted to look into his face. “It is odd to say I am happy to do hear it, but…” she breathed a moment, feeling that small place under her heart glow with belonging and love. 

“And I feel oddly like I want to thank you for sharing the secrets of your heart. Neither one is quite what I want to say. Thorin,” she whispered, stroking his beard, shifted and snuggled in so that they were nearly pressed heart to heart. “To know you trust me so, dearest. My heart is so full of you. I would do anything to help ease yours.” He leaned in to kiss her, and she jerked her head back. 

“Oh, love, I have sleep-breath, you don’t want to…I should get some water…” 

“Billa,” he growled, a bit of grave humor in his eyes. “I have been in the mouth of a warg. Your breath is honey itself in comparison. Moreover, _I don’t care._ ” 

Rolling her eyes, she went to him, and got a kiss full of tenderness and thanks. 

~~~~

Morning brought the sweetest waking. Surrounded by softness and warmth, his face was still pressed to her fragrant skin, her hand buried in his hair as she held him close, the smooth skin of her inner arm cool against his neck. Thorin breathed in deeply, and carefully gathered her closer for just a moment, just to feel her, lush and real in his arms. She had told him time and again, she was a hobbit, and that meant comfort. He had not understood the depth of that truth until now. 

Lovely and fragrant and pressed against him, it was time for him to release her before holding her in his arms his shifted from comfort to craving. To be honest, the craving was always there, but this morning, last night, was about love deeper than that of the body. 

Easing away, careful not to disturb her slumber, Thorin sat on the edge of the bed a moment, looking back at her after he pulled on his tunic. Simply sleeping in her arms, or she in his, brought him such peace, made the shining jewel of their bond beneath his heart glow with such joy and contentment. It was both thrilling and humbling to think that this joy could - and likely would - grow when they joined. How much could the heart hold? 

Thorin rounded the bed to come to her side, bent and gathered her up in his arms. “Billa, my rare one,” he whispered in her ear. “Thank you for last night.” 

“Thorin,” her sleepy voice made him smile. “Mmmm. H’lo, love.” 

“Shhh,” he said soothingly. “No need to wake fully. I didn’t want to slip away without…”

“D’nt want me...to worry…” she sighed, struggling with speech.

“Exactly,” he pressed kisses up her cheek to her forehead. Beautiful, disheveled, Pearl. “Have a lie-in, beloved. I’ll bring breakfast.” 

“No, I’ll …” she was already slipping back into sleep, but made a mighty effort. “Love you.” 

“And I you.” He kissed her forehead once more and eased back, only to find she had one braid tight in her fist. He pressed a gentle kiss to her mouth. “Let me go, _ghivasheluh_.” 

“Never,” she breathed, eyes opening to hazy half-slits. She smiled lazily. “I get a lie-in?” 

“Mmmhmmm, and breakfast in bed.” He reached behind her head for the extra pillow and pressed it in her arms. “But not unless you release me.” 

“Mmph,” she complained, and tugged at his braid, angling for another kiss. He pressed his smile against hers. When he finally was free, she snuggled around the pillow and drifted back off while he stroked her hair. 

How much could the heart hold? He was learning by the day. 

~~~~


	13. Of Breakfast, Beorn and Brusing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin, Billa, and the day of chores at Beorn's. Lots of happy domestic stuff. 
> 
> (I really struggled with the chapter title. I'm still not happy with it, but once it got in my brain, it wouldn't shake loose.) 
> 
> Thanks to my beta everbright-mourning!

~~~~

Thorin should have anticipated the uproar caused by his appearance at Beorn’s table, tray (negotiated away from Billa’s sheep friend at some length) in hand. 

“You’re _wed?_ Already?” Dwalin growled. 

“Oh!” Bofur exclaimed, clearly disappointed. “No party?” There were several grumbles of agreement. 

“What they mean is congratulations, not that it's any of our business, though we might have liked a chance to sing her to you,” Balin grumped, scowling. “And here you are gathering your wedding meal.” He tsked.

“Probably spur-of-the-moment,” Gloin offered sagely, then shrunk back when Thorin slanted him a look. 

“Congratulations!” his nephews bellowed, closing in for hugs, Fili looking as smug as could be, most likely plotting how much doting he could sneak by Billa without her fussing. 

Thorin rolled his eyes and accepted the hugs, because they’d pout otherwise (at their age, too) and took a moment to survey the rest of the table. Beaming, happy expressions met his gaze at every glance, and the wizard twinkled at him over the rim of his mug as if it was all Gandalf’s design, all along. 

Beorn, uncharacteristically, did not laugh or add a saucy comment, but looked rather wistful behind his smile. Thorin noted this with a pang, and worried he was going to have to like the skinchanger after all. 

He held off Dwalin, who, despite his growls, was coming in for a congratulatory head butt. “Save your joy, my friends,” he said gruffly. “I have more respect for my One, for Billa, without something to mark the occasion, whether it be in her tradition, or ours.”

“Which is why we’re pointing out your tray,” Bofur said slowly, as if Thorin was not very bright. Thorin slanted him a look and he became very busy with his mug. 

Oin scoffed loudly. “As if she’d call for him, with the state of his ribs.” 

“She did find them and the bruises rather disturbing,” Balin agreed. The two old gossips nodded sagely. Balin peered at him. “Then, what are you up to, laddie?” 

“If you must know,” he said, loading the tray with scones and cream and her favorite raspberry jam. Perhaps he should have asked for a larger tray. “I had a disturbed rest last night, Miss Baggins heard me, and was kind enough to come to my aid. I thought to offer her a lie-in and breakfast this morning for her trouble.” 

“Very thoughtful of you,” Dori said, approving, handing him a bowl of raspberries. “Poor lass has enough difficulties waking early.” 

A ripple of understanding and laugher ran around the table. Thorin, touched once more by their affection, fussed with the tray, and trying to find room to fit all of her favorites, as well as breakfast for himself. 

“You should put a flower on the tray, Uncle,” Fili said. “Isn’t there one that says thank you?” 

“Dark pink rose,” he replied, trying (and failing) to fit a jar of honey in one corner. 

“You speak the flower language, Black Wolf?” Beorn rumbled, with every evidence of not meaning to. 

“She’s teaching it to him as her craft!” Ori piped up proudly. “Um, that’s something we do when courting, each teaches a craft close to them to the other…plants are very important to hobbits.” 

“Aye. I’d think that would not be....” Beorn’s voice faltered.

Thorin met the skinchanger’s sad eyes. “Dwarrow have their own traditions for sending similar messages via precious metals and gems. I find my One’s craft quite challenging and rewarding, and she is teaching me about gardening craft as well as flower language. We have made good use of your small plot of blooms, Master Beorn, for which I am grateful.” 

“Uncle proposed with a flower bouquet!” Kili offered proudly. 

“Indeed?” Beorn said slowly, then inhaled sharply. “Black Wolf, my nose tells me a fresh batch of scones has come from the oven. You might get flowers for the tray and be back in time to take your intended some.” 

Thorin gazed at his nephews, bottomless pits of hunger that they were. Fili’s eyes crinkled in understanding. 

“I’ll keep some safe for you, Uncle,” he said, already reaching for the tray. Thorin smiled his thanks, inclined his head graciously to their host, and made for the garden, already plotting a small bouquet in his head. 

When he returned the tray was organized beautifully, with a small pottery vase to one side waiting his flowers. He trimmed them thoughtfully, noting Beorn’s preoccupation with his pipe, and Fili’s teasing, contented smile.

“My thanks,” he said softly, as he hefted the tray, and made a point of meeting each eye, including Beorn’s. “To all of you.” 

~~~~

He had not thought this through, that much was clear. Billa was luscious in the morning light, flushed and rumpled with sleep, her hair tumbling around her shoulders as she sat up, and her shift….he plucked the light blanket off the end of the bed and brought it to her, tucking it around her like a shawl as he kissed her almost-bared shoulder where her shift had slipped aside, exposing creamy skin. 

What he wanted to do was stroke every bit of skin exposed, lavish attention on every inch until Billa shivered and sighed in his arms, but instead, he ran through the list of precious metals and their alloys as he playfully kissed up her shoulder to her neck, and then to her cheek. 

Billa was beaming, eyes still drowsy but dancing with delight. Her hand rose to touch his cheek, encouraging him to linger, take a kiss from her sweet mouth, and Thorin was helpless to do anything but obey.

“You spoil me,” she said softly, stroking his cheek when the kiss ended. “Thank you for this, and for the flowers and the lie-in. All of it, so lovely.” 

“It is my delight to do so. And I will get little opportunity when we resume traveling.” He kissed her palm, distancing himself from her entrancing mouth. “I am the one getting spoiled, being allowed to tend to you so. I feel sure I will be the one with difficulties in the morning, robbed of my place by your side at night.” 

“Ah, because we are not yet wed.” 

He tilted his head, acknowledging it. “I was thinking more the lack of privacy…”

She flushed prettily. “Oh, bedrolls side by side instead of…”

“One, exactly. I will miss this room, this time with you to linger.” 

“Ah,” she said, her eyes dreamy, and he had to kiss her, just once more. She smiled, mischief in her gaze when he withdrew. “Vinegar, quite helpful for bruises,” she whispered, and he grinned and stole one last kiss. 

“Now, my pearl, breakfast is getting cold. We have scones just from the oven.” 

~~~

They talked of the projects he was going to supervise the others in that day, and confessed a few he thought he’d take on himself and listened, as he had promised, when Billa questioned him on tasks that might jar his ribs or his arm. He was going to be stuck mainly supervising, and harvesting food. He made a valiant attempt at suppressing a sigh.

“I could join you after I have weapons practice in the gardens, we could do a spot of plant lessons there.” 

“I would be most grateful for the opportunity.” 

Billa bounced slightly, pleased, and Thorin had to look away, because she was most lovely, and the shift and shawl did little to disguise the motion of her body. 

“After we do that, I think I might try my hand at making something a little more flavorful than cram that will travel well.” 

“I would be most grateful for that, too.”

Billa sighed happily, and finished the rest of her tea. 

“I am most grateful for this lovely breakfast, just us two.” 

“I look forward to many more.” 

Her smile was sweet, and she pushed back the covers to leave the bed. He offered her a hand to guide her down what was a bit of a jump for a hobbit, and after reaching the floor safely, she simply walked into his arms. 

“I know there is much to do before we share lovely mornings like this, in a room of our own, in your home, but the idea of it, even with all the danger ahead, the idea together of many long mornings and evenings with you, meals and waking and falling asleep and planning things with you…that idea will stay me on any rainy day, any trouble ahead.”

“Pearl,” he breathed. “ _Ghivasheluh._ ” He held her close, reveling in the feel of her, soft, warm, and unfettered by her bulky clothing, as he stroked her hair. 

“How are the shadows this morning, my love?” 

He took a deep breath, and held her a touch closer still. “The dream still haunts me a bit, as it always does, but I am much better, clearer minded for having your company and your care last night. Much better for having this time with you this morning.” He pressed a kiss to her hair and gave an amused sigh. “And much better for the company fussing over you downstairs.” 

Bill pulled her head off his shoulder with a jerk to look at him, puzzled. “They what?” 

Thorin rubbed her arms, and found himself grinning ruefully. “They assumed that my coming down to collect a tray for us was a belated wedding meal. Oh, the growls I got that we had not followed any ceremony from your people’s or mine. I believe there was quite a bit of annoyance at having been robbed of a party…” 

“But I thought…” 

He curled her close again. “I did say that my position might warrant a bit of a public acknowledgement.” 

“You did…”

“And you know how that lot loves a party…”

“Any group including Bofur is moments away from a party.” 

“Would it be...something you’d like, having a small celebration with them when the time comes? If we are traveling, that is likely to be confined to some music and dancing?” 

“Of course! That is so sweet of them to want to do that for you, love.” 

He rubbed his nose against hers. “Not just me. In fact, you can thank Fili for the flowers this morning. I was worrying about fitting honey on the tray when he made mention of the idea. And _some_ skillful hand arranged the tray so that everything fit and found a vase... and the skinchanger!” Thorin sighed heavily and gave her a look from under his brow. “I fear I may, despite my earlier annoyance at his treatment of you, and distrust of our story, well.” Struggling to find the right word, he sighed again. “He seems decent, if a bit rough.” 

“Annoyance? Is that what we’re calling it these days?” She leaned against his him, eyes bright with humor. “You fear you may…..grow to like him?” Apparently his expression spoke for itself. 

“Oh my,” she said in overdone sympathy. “The _thought_ of liking one so generous, one who is putting aside his own dislike of dwarrow to help us. Poor darling, that must be so painful.” 

“Yes, well, he found it very interesting I was learning the flower lore,” Thorin said primly, and Billa buried her head against his good shoulder.

“We know his secrets now!” She giggled. “All those flowers for…”

“Starting a courtship and ending it.” 

“The cad,” Billa said, grinning up at him. Thorin winced. 

“Oh, no, I...I feel the need to defend him….” 

“This is more serious than I thought,” his love said, her brows raised. 

Thorin screwed his eyes tightly closed, as if not to witness his own words. “There is a sadness about his face, a longing for times, for persons, past, or perhaps, that those times will never come again. And he did say...” 

“That he knew what it was to lose someone, but not know what had happened to them, I remember.” Billa stroked his chest lightly, comforting, and her hand stole up to caress his cheek. “And I had noticed a wistful tone in his voice a time or two. And that time he praised your pack.” 

“Just so,” Thorin replied, pressing his cheek into her hand, then kissing her palm. “But if he pokes you in the stomach again…” 

“Well. I did promise nettles should he allow _you_ to be hurt.” 

“Ah. So...” He found himself unaccountably disappointed.

“Thorin,” Billa drawled warningly, a tease in her tone to soothe the sting. “You are having Dwalin teach me how to defend myself. And between that and my own experience with annoying scamps back home…” 

He took a deep breath. “I..I just…It is not respectful, treating you so.” 

“Agreed. But he’s more apt to take me seriously if I’m the one doing the scolding or defending.” 

“You are right.” 

“Oh my dearest one,” she said, half-laughing. “I know it’s har….” she stopped herself and folded her lips inward, blushing madly. Thorin’s eyebrows flew up. 

“I know it’s _difficult_ to reign in protective feelings,” she finished primly. 

“Yes, but I promise to try.” 

“Thank you.”

“And as for things being _hard_ , Miss Baggins….before long,” he murmured, threading a hand into the tousled mop of her hair to draw her in. “We will have so many words to avoid, we’ll hardly be able to converse at all.” 

“Whatever shall we do, your majesty?” She replied, her eyes dancing with mirth. She gasped softly when his mouth brushed hers. 

“Other ways to communicate, perhaps?” 

“Mmm,” she mused, and brushed her lips over his. “Har...difficult to communicate, for example, if the roof is leaking this way….” 

“Ah, but we’ll be living in the mountain, so it’s hardly a matter to concern ourselves with.” 

“Oh, well, there’s that,” Billa said, slightly breathless, and rose on tiptoe to better reach his mouth. Thorin couldn’t help but groan into the kiss, instantly drunk on the sweetness of her lips, the press and warmth and softness of her, so easily felt through her cotton shift. 

She shivered hard, once, her mouth parting under his, and it was all he could do not to sweep inside, kiss her deeply. He did not, however, have the will to pull away from her mouth until her heels hit the floor once again, and he stayed to press his forehead against hers. 

“My apologies,” she said, her cheeks flaming, tucking the blanket back into place. “I keep forgetting I’m just standing around in my shift.”

“I, on the other hand, am improving. I can forget it for perhaps five seconds at a time, if I am not touching you or looking directly at you.” 

“Oh my, such stamina,” she whispered, paused, and added, as Thorin began to shake with silent laughter. “I’ve gone and done it again, haven’t it? 

“Perhaps, until we are wed,” Thorin replied, kissing her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks, “I should teach you _Iglishmêk,_ though now that I think of it, there are some signs that, if done improperly, have rather...bawdy interpretations.” 

“Are you proposing again?” Bella asked in a mild tone, as he cupped her dear face in his hands in preparation to kiss her mouth. 

“I feel the need to at least once a day, _ghivasheluh,_ ” he murmured, starting over at her forehead. “At least until we are wed. Perhaps a bit after, I’m not sure.” 

“Vinegar,” she said firmly, voice belying the haze in her eyes after he’d proposed once more. 

“A remedy for bruises, so I’m told,” he agreed, soft and low. Bella sighed, and leaned in for a smacking kiss. 

“This is the part where I shoo you out of my room to dress, and you flee before my fearsome temper.” 

Thorin raised his eyebrows as he waited. 

“I’d like to do that without actually having to work up to a strop.” 

“Ah. May I ask why?” 

“A lie-in and breakfast in bed with my beloved and _yet another proposal_ has rendered me utterly unable to be annoyed. At the moment.” 

“Have I ever told you about our other forms of traditional proposal?” he asked in his most scholarly tone. “Most ancient of all is….” 

“Out….” she began turning him gently, pushing at him with barest pressure of her hands, steering him toward the door.

“It’s quite straightforward, but not without elements of romance….you see, the prospective spouse shows themselves before their beloved, and their family members... clad in only the signs of their wealth, status, and their crafts...”

“Out, my horrible darling….” she gently shoved him out the door, laughing, and shut it in his face. A second later, he heard her exclaim, “Clad _only_ in signs of their wealth?” 

He made his way downstairs, grinning. 

~~~

Despite his inability to perform vigorous labor that day, Thorin found himself pleasantly tired at lunchtime, and distinctly weary by the time dinner was served. He’d spent several pleasant hours in the garden, kneeling in the dirt with Billa, his strength sapped by the sun and his efforts at concentrating. Billa was ever more distracting, beautiful she was,deep in the throes of tending to a beloved craft, a smudge of dirt on her cheek and her eyes sparkling. It was worth any confusion about the merits of carrots and parsnips, and why there were so many forms of green and leafy vegetables. 

Billa, glowing from her bath, allowed a formally beaming Fili to hand her into her seat next to Thorin, then sat on her other side, and began ferrying her favorite items down the table without prompting. Thorin sent him a grateful smile, but also raised his eyebrow at his nephew’s doting. Fili just grinned at him, delighted and sheepish. 

Billa leaned toward Thorin, her expression inquisitive, then began to laugh. And laugh. Thorin worked to control the corners of his mouth. 

“Billa, are you all right?” Fili asked, patting her back gently. “You’re not choking are you?” 

“She hasn’t eaten a bite,” Kili pointed out.

“No,” she hiccuped, reaching for Thorin’s hand. “I’m…..” Fresh giggles burst out of her.

“Have too much sun, lassie?” Gloin called. “It was powerfully warm today….” Billa just flapped her hands at them. 

“Thorin,” she squeaked, pointing.

“Thorin what?” Kili asked, his brow furrowed. Thorin attended to his cup of mead with (he felt) the proper majestic calm and glanced at her over the rim. She crossed her arms over her stomach and howled with laughter. 

“Please...please excuse… _air_ ” She pushed her chair back and trotted to the porch. Thorin followed a second after. When he found her, he found her just outside the door, her hands pressed to her cheeks. 

“You are frequently hilarious, my love,” she grinned, and reached out with both hands. He walked into her arms and she squirmed, twisting her head away. 

“Sweet Yavanna, Thorin, you smell like a _salad._ ” She complained, her voice breathless and trembling with mirth.

“I was told,” he said with dignity. “That vinegar is speeds the healing of…”

“Oh hush,” she laughed, and relenting, offered a kiss. “Got yourself into a right pickle, didn’t you?” 

~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The proposal method Thorin is talking about first appeared in ["And So, To bed," ](http://archiveofourown.org/series/60900) and was inspired by quite the drool worthy sketch (if you can call much magnificence a sketch.) 
> 
> And again, my dears, thank you for your patience. It's been a rough spring and summer, pain-wise. Hope to get back to relatively regular posting again.


	14. Of Last Nights and Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the last night at Beorn's. 
> 
> Hey, if you run across any random strands of gibberish, it's a hello from my new kittens. 
> 
> Thanks to tygermama and bubbysbub for beta-reading. 
> 
> Boy, did Billa and Thorin want to go their own way with this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Khuzdul glossary reminder: 
> 
> Ghivashel: treasure of all treasures
> 
> Kurdûnuh: my heart
> 
> Kurdûnizu: your heart
> 
> Btw: one of my new kittens is named Ghivashel. :)

There was a certain way Thorin looked at her, his gaze gentle, warm, blazing with all the soft fire of a star, that set off a quiver inside Billa, deep deep inside, and made that warm place beneath her heart glow and shine with joy. It could be like the first truly warm sunshine of spring, delight and relief and yearning toward that warmth, the languid heat of a summer afternoon, or the cozy curl before a fire with the pleasure of chasing the chill of autumn or winter away. 

In any case, she knew that glance meant love, and it was thrilling and becoming more so as their love deepened. 

“What are you thinking, my pearl?” he murmured, his fingers tracing the edge of her smile. They were curled in front of the fire where they’d set their betrothal beads, as had become rather a habit before they said goodnight. And tonight was the last evening before they resumed traveling.

Her hair was still a bit damp by the time they arrived upstairs after a rather festive dinner, thanking their host, and Thorin had delighted in it as it dried, carding it through his fingers and playing with it, before combing the whole unruly mess into smooth waves. She was nearly as boneless and contented as a cat, and when she turned to offer her thanks, he’d simply looked at her with that deep, treasured gaze. 

Billa shifted to stroke his cheek, his brow, down the middle of his nose to make him smile, then stole a small, chaste kiss. When it ended, his hands lingered on her upper arms in a slow, sweeping caress, clearly reluctant to let her go, and she enjoyed the extra warmth on her sore muscles. She leaned forward to nuzzle his cheek and press a kiss next to his mouth. 

“This is my favorite face in all Arda,” she whispered. “And the way you look at me sometimes, my heart, it is very humbling.” 

“Your heart,” he whispered in return, and drew her in for a slightly longer kiss. “I can say the same of you,” he continued, and plucked one of her hands from his chest to kiss her palm. “I hope always to be worthy of the love I see in your gaze.” 

She reversed the position of their hands and kissed his palm, soft and lingering, and watched his gaze flare with desire with some pride. “I think the best way to love is to love unreservedly, in spite of faults, and to learn how to accept and trust in love offered, don’t you think?” 

“I do think, and I do know, Belladonna,” he said softly. “But I am still grateful.” 

“As am I. We have both been rather solitary for a long time. You far longer than me. It’s….new and a little unsettling - in a good way - to be so regarded. Like standing in the sun, realizing how dark the winter had been.”

The intensity of his gaze, burning happiness in it made her breath catch. “For me,” he said, his voice low and fond. “It is like the cool relief of peace, of a quenching drink of water when I did not realize how thirsty I had become.”

Billa shrugged off his hands to wind her arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, making herself ignore the ache of her much-used muscles when she raised them to sink into his answering kisses. Thorin’s soft groan of pleasure when her mouth parted beneath his caused Billa to catch fire, to shiver and press close as she could without hurting him. They ended the kiss, foreheads pressed together, trying to steady their breathing. 

“I think,” he said haltingly. “That after the day’s labor, I should have better sleep. But should _you_ have need…”

Bella sat back on her heels, and winced as she lowered her arms. 

“Sore?” he asked. 

“A bit,” Billa replied, and kneaded her shoulder. “I should have found a taller stool to work with in Beorn’s kitchen working with that dough for the cram, but I’m not sure why I’m so stiff right now.... I suppose from sitting awhile.” And from pushing herself to make actually palatable cram, plus training, but she wasn’t going to grumble. She shook her head, dismissing the subject, and reached for one of his hands. 

“Thorin, we may not be married yet, but I would rather not be parted, and especially not while we have the privacy tonight that will be denied us for...who knows how long? I know that’s selfish.” She ducked her head, blushing. “Waiting until you’re healed is more difficult than…I am glad we are taking things slowly in one sense, but...” 

“Yes." Was all the answer he seemed able to force out. Billa looked up at him, her head tilted. 

“Yes, to?” 

Thorin swallowed hard. “All of it. Tonight. Waiting. Wanting to come to you. Waiting for your call is very…” He buried his face in her hand and kissed her palm. “I wish to be near you, in any way you wish. And, to admit my own selfishness, I have slept better in your arms than I have since...since I left your home, now that I think of it.” He looked up at her with a small grin. “Is that a hobbit trait, then? Lulling one’s guests to sleep?” 

Billa looked at him from under her lashes. “I am a hobbit, and that means….”

“Comfort,” he said with her, and smiled, clear and shy and happy. He kissed her hand again. “And speaking of which, I could ease your sore shoulders and arms, if you like. And I swear it will not disturb my own hurts.” 

“Oh my, I would very much like.” She rose, somewhat stiffly, finding other places that were sore. “And now that I think of it, I did use my arms differently when we practiced with Ori’s slingshot today. So, that’s a different sore from the sword work, and the baking, as, well.” Billa extended her hand, and when he did not take it, (though they both knew she could do little to aid him rising) she raised her eyebrows. 

“You are sore, and I will not tax your muscles further, my rare one.” 

Billa huffed in mock exasperation. “I suppose I should take my own advice and be careful of myself.” 

Thorin simply raised his brows and smiled at her.

“Oh, you shut up,” she flustered, grinning. He grinned back at her. 

Gathering her dignity, a smile still trembling at the corners of her mouth, she asked, “Shall I see you in a moment?” 

Thorin inclined his head graciously, his eyes sparkling. One last smile, and Billa made haste to prepare for bed. 

 

~~~~

Her door was shut when Thorin reached her room. He frowned, hoping she had not changed her mind. He knocked softly on the door. “Billa?” 

“Yes, oh, I’m sorry!” Billa called. She opened the door, and gave him a look of embarrassed frustration. 

“Pearl?” 

“I’m afraid I might need a little help,” she confessed, and opened the door wider for him to enter. “I _did_ stiffen up, and I’m having trouble doing things that require me to put my arms behind my back, like…” She gestured at her bodice. 

He would not blush, he would not stare, and kept his eyes firmly on hers. “Oh, I see….may I?” 

“Please.” 

“If you could hold the top of your shift where it joins the sleeve? It might ease sliding your bodice off,” he said, coming closer slowly. She smiled at him, encouraging, still quite flustered. 

“Now, when I take hold of it, simply spin slowly…” he touched her shoulder blade with the flat of his hand to show her the direction. “Slowly, so when your muscles give you pain, the first hints of it, we may stop and...yes, that’s it. Billa, if you are this sore, I should fetch some willow bark from Oin.” 

She grimaced. “May we try the massage first? I don’t like willow bark either.” She shuddered. “Never did like bitter things.” 

“And yet you’re betrothed to me…”

“Oh hush,” she teased, sending him an affectionate glance. 

“Fortunate that you are sweet enough for the both of us,” he murmured, and kissed her shoulder as he encouraged her to keep moving. Billa laughed softly as she turned. 

“How can that be, when you are standing here sweet talking me?” 

“It is a puzzle, I grant you that. But I hear you like those.” 

“Very much,” she replied, her voice warm with affection, and low enough to send a bit of a thrill through him. “Oh, there, wait, my love.” She stiffened, trying to protect her sore muscles and he wondered how long she’d tried to do this herself, only winding herself tighter, and was annoyed with himself for taking his time making his way to her room.

“It’s fine, I have you,” he said softly. “Deep breath, now. When you freeze up and try to hold yourself away from the pain, it makes it worse. And I should have said, you may let go the neck of your shift and relax. There. That’s it.” He drew her bodice down and off her arm, and she let out a deep sigh. 

“Thank you, dearheart.” 

He smiled at the love name, clasped her shoulders gently as he leaned closer, and kissed the top of her head. 

“Will you need help with your skirt?” 

“Yes,” she sighed. “I thought to perhaps turn it sideways, undo it that way, but….” 

“That would hurt just as much as….” 

“Yes.” 

He unlaced her skirt, and when she’d untied her petticoat, which laced in front, he caught himself before putting his hands inside the skirts and slipping them down her (lush, round) hips. “Should I?” 

“Um, give them a good yank and….” 

Dubiously, Thorin pinched a bit of skirt and petticoat on both sides, and did as she asked. A small, utterly adorable wiggle and they slid down to her feet. Thorin put a hand around her, offering, and Billa turned gracefully as she took it, and stepped out of her skirts. 

“Thank you.” she said, blushing furiously as she smiled up at him. “What?” 

Thorin tilted his head as he tried to put his feelings into words. “Looking forward to sharing the small moments of a life with you. Like this.” 

_“Kurdûnuh,”_ she said fondly, and tipped her face up for a kiss. 

_“Kurdûnizu,”_ he replied, and stroked her arms as the kiss ended. “Shall we?” 

“Hmmm?” she answered, a little hazy eyed. “Oh, I should wash my feet before I get into bed.” 

“Allow me, since I cannot help you into bed, let me put away your clothing and fetch a warm cloth?” 

“Always spoiling me.” 

He leaned down to kiss her once, twice. “When I get the chance.” 

“I’m going to remind you of that when I wake up grumpy some morning and want tea.” 

Smiling, he kissed her again. “Go on,” he said, and tipped his chin at the bed. 

~~~

Billa was glad he’d turned his back to putter with the fire and put her clothes on the chair, as climbing into Beorn’s high bed was never graceful. She had a moment, while he was testing the warmth of the water in the washstand, to appreciate his masculine beauty. 

Thorin, seemingly anticipating her preference, was removing his tunic to come to her in his soft linen pants and bandages, and she could feast her eyes on the strong curve of his back, his wide shoulders, every line of him speaking of power, of strength, even littered as it was with bruises and scars. 

Such strength and yet he was so gentle and tender with her, and that was equally humbling and exhilarating. And then he knelt before her, a bit stiffly still, bowl and cloth in hand, and her breath left her. 

“May I,” he asked humbly. “I seem to recall this being one of the places it was improper…”

“My love,” Billa said, her voice rasping her mouth was so dry, but she aimed for teasing none the less. “I give it only to help you with this need to spoil me before we resume traveling.” 

“So kind of you,” he murmured, his eyes gleaming with mirth. And then there was that look again, as he smiled into her eyes for just a moment more before tending to her feet. 

Thorin did not just swipe the cloth over them quickly, but took his time, one hand cupping her ankle to support her foot as he held it, working gently but firmly, and when he was done, he looked a request at her, hand hovering over the top of her foot. She smiled permission, a little breathless. She knew her feet were very different that a dwarf’s...would he...was he…

He smoothed the hair at the top of her foot, petting it, really, and brushed a finger across her toes. Gentle, so gentle, and clearly thinking. 

“You’re not trying to work out braiding the fur on my feet, are you?” she asked softly. He snorted a small laugh.

“No, but I’m considering a ring or two here,” Thorin indicated her right second toe and her third left. “And perhaps a cuff here, or an anklet of moonstones and sapphires,” he loosely clasped her left ankle. “Or perhaps anklets of tiny silver bells, that you might make music as you walked.” 

“Hmm, belling the burglar?”

“I take your point,” he murmured, and kissed her instep, which caught the breath in her throat and gave her a pleasant little flip of desire. She struggled to compose herself as she scooted to the head of the bed. 

“How shall we sit, my love?” She asked as she winced her way into a sitting position. Everything that caused her to move her arms twinged, especially after her futile battle with her bodice. She should have taken a hotter bath, she should have stretched more, and she probably should have taken that willow bark when Oin offered it. 

They got themselves arranged, and Thorin gathered her hair and put it over one shoulder. 

“This is so sweet of you, Thorin, thank you.” 

His hands settled on her arms, so warm even through the sleeves of her shift. “I’ve not yet begun,” he rumbled, clearly amused. 

“Still,” she said, and turned to offer a smile and a kiss. 

“You are distracting me,” he murmured, as he stole a second, slower kiss. 

“Hmmm. I apologize, your majesty.” 

“Miss Baggins,” he chided softly “Here, with you? I am just…”

“Just Thorin, I remember,” she said, unable to help flushing under his regard. 

“Might I tend to you, Pearl? I am quite happy to kiss you as long as you like, but…” 

“Well, if you’re desperate to give a massage…” she drawled in a teasing, long-suffering tone. 

“Most desperate,” he replied in his midnight voice, and kissed her cheek, and oh, there was that lovely look again, his eyes starry and warm. 

“Well, then,” Billa said, feeling both cherished and shy, obediently turned. 

“Close your eyes,” he whispered, midnight voice turned to velvet, and kissed the knob of her spine where it met her neck. “And hold my legs to steady yourself if you have need. Does it hurt most when you raise your arms, or….”

“Yes, I was having to reach up to knead the dough, I didn’t think it would be a problem, but…” 

“Hmmm, I understand, and that on top of the training…” His hands sketched lightly over her shift, barely touching her, but getting her used to his presence, his touch. “I’m going to start with your shoulders and upper back, down your arms, and last, your hands. Be sure and tell me if I need to linger longer at one place or another, and most especially, tell me if something is too tender, or makes you uncomfortable. Ready?” 

“Ready,” Billa whispered back.

In very short order, Billa was melting in Thorin’s hands. He found places she didn’t know were sore and soothed them, wringing long-held tension and new-found soreness from her training out of her shoulders, her upper back, her arms. She did have to hold onto his thighs for balance, keeping herself from turning into a little puddle in his arms. When he worked his clever fingers up her neck into her hair, she groaned, sagging in his hands. 

“How did you become so very good at this?” she breathed. 

“Some of our healers use their gifts to help soothe muscles, banish soreness after hard training, and aid those who have lost a limb, or had a great injury, heal,” he answered softly. “I often availed myself of their services after training hard, or a trip. A luxury I gave myself, especially after long travels.”

“When you went out as a blacksmith for hire.” 

“Yes. And when I would come home, there was an old healer friend of Oin’s who insisted on my coming to his table, knowing I’d done without such care while I was gone. He knew, too, that there were times I was so weary but could not sleep, shadows pursuing me. A good soak in a hot spring or bath and a massage from him often helped. And,” he murmured directly in her ear. “I have studied a bit of how to care for my One like this.” 

“To learn how to be a good husband,” Billa whispered, a low throb of pleasure in her belly. 

“Yes.” 

“You studied with your healer friend to do this?” 

“Not as such. Tending you, I use what has helped me in the past. The rest, still knowledge I collected reading, or via the wife lore.” 

“You bring so many gifts, and so much knowledge to our...” 

“Billa,” he interrupted gently, and eased her back until she was resting against his chest, his arms around her, and his cheek pressed against hers. “Your love is my delight and my balm, most beloved Pearl. The gift of you, in my life, my One at my side, is the greatest I’ve ever received, my chiefest treasure.” 

“Flattery,” she said, her breath ragged. 

“Truth, deep truth,” he said, and stroked her arms, her waist. “Billa, I have a request.” 

“What’s that?”

“I think you might have some very sore places under your arms, the small muscles of your ribs, from the chores and weapons you added beyond your training. It might be very tender and… it’s very close to where I would not touch you without your express permission. Would you raise your arms and tell me where it’s still sore? And when it begins to pull?” 

Billa sat up a bit and raised her arms, and just before shoulder height, she did feel a pull under her arms and right where her arm met her shoulder in front. It had all been such a mass of soreness when she attempted undressing she hadn’t quite realized this was part of it. Her hand immediately went to her right shoulder. “Oh, when I raise my arms above my shoulders and here…” 

“Willow bark with breakfast in the morning. At least you’ll get to rest a bit, riding,” he said, kissing the knob of her spine again. “I’ll lead your pony if need be. And tonight, with your permission, might I help?” 

“Please.” 

Thorin was gentle, but firm, and did not linger over much at the sensitive skin at the side of her breasts but slightly higher, where curves met muscle and muscle stretched over bone. It was quite tender, and when she flinched, he simply flattened his palm over the tender spot, letting the heat of his hands seep in, and then rubbed firm, gentle circles, first this way, then that, loosening the muscles. Oh, it helped, it really helped, and Billa let out a great sigh as he took the soreness away. 

He used much the same gentle technique on the tender spot on the front of her shoulder made from overextending her right arm, flat palm and fingers, the heat of his hand and gentle pressure. Tension she had not realized she’d been holding ebbed from her, and again, she sighed deeply as it left. Thorin answered her with a pleased hum. 

He tucked her against his chest again to work down her arms to her hands. She’d never had anyone but herself massage her hands and it was _bliss._ Billa caught herself sighing and making rather overt noises of appreciation and pleasure and hushed herself, blushing. 

“Please, hearing you helps me know I’m doing the right thing,” he said in her ear, drawing his fingers up her arms, catching on the sleeves of her shift before continuing their path up her neck into her hair again to massage her scalp, his fingers growing ever lighter as he eased away, and down her arms again to lace his fingers with hers. 

“Sweet Yavanna, Thorin,” Billa groaned, so grateful. “Marry me.” 

“I plan to.” He made a rumbling sound of approval as he kissed her temple, her cheek, his beard a pleasant soft rasp against her face. He released her hands to caress her bare arms from the edge of her sleeve down into her open palms and back. It was drowsy- and rather tingly-making, all at once, to rest in his arms so, with his hands so gently exploring her skin. He was warm, so warm and lovely and...

“Come,” he said softly. “We should rest.” 

“I am asleep,” she whispered back. “And cannot not possibly move.” 

“Oh,” Thorin breathed low in her ear. “Are you dreaming, my pearl?” 

“Mmm, yes. You stand at my back,” her voice wavered as she teased. “In a darkened room…” 

He gathered her more firmly against his chest, his hand wide and warm on her stomach, his laughter a huff of warm breath on her neck. “And whatever am I doing, standing at your back in a darkened room?” he purred. 

“I rather imagine you’re holding me like this, close and warm. I love when you do that, kiss my neck, and whisper to me. ”

Thorin obliged, trailing soft kisses from shoulder to just under her ear, which he grazed lightly with his teeth, then soothed it by brushing his lips back and forth over the tender spot while she shivered. 

“What are we doing, Billa?” he asked, his palm rubbing a slow, comforting circle on her stomach.

“We are being selfish,” she breathed. “ _I_ am being selfish.” 

“How so?” 

She played with his fingers, stroked his his hands, looking for the right words. “What might we do that will not plague your wounds? I know you said...” 

Behind her, Thorin sucked in long slow breath and let it out just as slowly. “I could not cover you, join with you, with my shoulder and ribs like this,” he said, and Billa inhaled sharply, realizing what he meant, and shivered. He held her tight through her trembles, his nose teasing at the edge of her ear, which just made her tremble more. 

“I...I can’t think when you do that, love,” Billa quavered. She felt more than heard his pleased hum as he eased away. 

“Your pardon. I believe your ears are a place I need an invitation - “

Billa let her head drop back on his shoulder. “Thorin, I am telling you plain, you have leave to touch me. If not for your injuries....” 

“And I am yours to touch as you will,” he murmured, dark and low, nuzzling behind her ear, his breath warm on her neck. “What do you want tonight, Billa?” 

“I, oh, I’m going to catch fire blushing,” she muttered. 

“There’s no need to rush if you…”

“No,” she hissed. “I’ve just never asked for...” She patted his hand in apology for her tone and took a deep breath. “It is as if my skin aches for your touch, and I very much want...” she said in a rush, before mastering her breathing. “And I want you under the covers with me, so I can hold you properly, at the very least feel the warmth of you next to me. If I cannot yet call my husband to my bed, I invite my betrothed to bring as many kisses as he wishes to offer.” 

“Accepted,” he breathed, nuzzling her ear softly up the edge and down, and while he did, one thumb grazed the curve of her breast, small, simple, steady, maddening touches that left fire in their wake. “You have me, sweet Pearl.” 

“Is the thinking bit over yet? Because….” Helplessly, she tilted her head to give him better access, and he took it, nuzzling and nipping at her ear until she was gasping for more, his thumb brushing, gently brushing all the while, and Billa had never known her skin was so sensitive. “What do _you_ want tonight, _kurdûnuh?_ ”

“To be _kurdûnizu,_ my Pearl. For tonight, I want to touch you as you asked, as you need. But I wish...I would wait to see you in all your beauty, in naught but your glowing, soft skin, Billa. Can you feel the warmth of my hands, my body, through your shift?” 

“Yes.” 

He stroked lightly up her waist to the soft underside of her breast, then slowly cupped his hand until he cradled it in his palm. “Does this answer your need?” Billa whimpered, swaying in his arms. 

“Yes.” 

“And it is pleasing?” He stroked up in the same caress as before, stroking almost to her.. Billa could not help but make the soft sound again, and her back arched all on its’ own, her body asking for more. 

“Yes.” 

“Then I wish to wait to fully see, fully touch you until we wed.” 

“Further encouragement to heal?” 

Thorin’s answering huff of laughter was low and carnal and _oh_.... “Acceptable?” he purred.

“Very, but….” Bill gathered her remaining wits and said, sitting perfectly still in his arms, trying not to press into his touch. “Thorin. If _you_ wish to wait….if this is too selfish of me to ask...” 

“My One has need of me, and I will answer her call.” 

“That does not exactly answer my question, my love.” 

“I want this,” he breathed in her ear, an ache in his voice as he gathered her in tightly, his hand at her breast, pressing in gently, perfectly, his palm rotating in a slow, slow caress. Billa clutched at his leg, fairly swooning, caught between his voice and hand. 

“I want this night of you, with you. I desire you, I wish to share….I do not have the words at the moment to say just how much, but I do know,” his voice rasped low, and he took a moment to press his lips behind her ear, take a deep slow breath, as if to memorize her scent. “I am at your service, Belladonna Baggins, this night and all others.” 

And then he began to touch her, ear to breast to belly, and she was floating, awash in pleasure. 

~~~

Billa was trembling in his arms before he finished speaking the word “service,” and when he closed his mouth over the lobe of her ear, she cried out softly, calling his name.

Thorin was deep in delight, more sure than ever they were to be well-matched in passion. He both ached for her and was grateful he’d taken his own pleasure before coming to her room for he could concentrate on her pleasure unhurried, without having to master himself. Well, perhaps without having to master himself _as often._

“These shivers and trembles of yours, Pearl, do you know how they call to me?” he murmured, nosing along the rim of her ear as he slid his palm along the underside of her breast, enjoying the luxurious weight in his palm. He was rewarded with a gasp and the arch of her back, a silent request for more. 

“I know when you tremble at my touch, that your desire matches mine. And to feel such signs of passion, to hear your body’s call for my touch.” He stroked light fingers over her breast, learning its’ shape. 

“I revel in that mute call, even as my skin aches for yours, even as I burn for your touch, burn to rest inside you, to join and be as much yours as you are mine.” 

Billa cried out at his words, melting soft in his arms. Instead of holding her more tightly, giving in to the urge to hold, possess, Thorin began lightly sketching a large circle around one breast, circling in ever closer. She hitched and trembled in his arms, clutching at his thighs for support, and he could feel her hips jerk unconsciously, rocking in time with her need for firmer caresses. 

Thorn pressed one hand to her stomach, keeping her steady, and lavished his attention on her neck, her ear, swirling his tongue hot and wet over her pulse and grazing it with his teeth before pressing a slow kiss against her skin. 

Billa moaned, pressing into his hands, seeking more, trembling constantly, desire and touch winding her tighter. He traced the edge of her nipple carefully, slowly, knowing he might find a place or two on this tender flesh that would bring her even greater pleasure. 

And he was right. He brushed a place on the lower curve of her areola that made her jerk in his arms, a low, deliciously carnal cry bursting from her lips. Thorin pressed his face against her neck, reveling in the sound and wanting so very badly to traverse the length of her from breast to belly and beyond with his hands, his mouth, to see how much his caresses moved her, to taste her until his beard was drenched, and to finally join and rest within her...

But this night was about Billa, so he stroked that tiny place that made her shiver and jerk, that made her sigh and moan. He nudged at her cheek for her to turn, and caught her mouth with his as he caressed her, listening deeply, waiting for her to become restless, to need more. 

When he felt her wind tight, when her motions became more needful and desperate, he cupped both breasts and worried and plucked her nipples gently, in time with the rocking of her hips as he gathered her tightly against his chest, and rocked with her as he kissed her. In a few moments of devouring kisses, of her breathless whimpers, she broke against his mouth, shivering sharp, her body rippling in his arms, beautiful, so beautiful in her pleasure, his rare Pearl. 

“Love, oh beloved,” she whispered as he stroked and petted her breasts through her shift, drawing out her pleasure. “I’ve...I didn’t know that could…I could...” Thorin smiled against her mouth. 

“My treasure,” he murmured, looking into her eyes. “I had wondered, hoped. You are so responsive, so passionate, I thought this might please you.” 

“Oh my,” she moaned gratefully. “It does indeed.” She turned slightly to kiss him more fully. 

“Will you lie down with me, Billa?” he asked when the kiss ended. 

“Mmm, please,” she hummed, stroking his beard. 

They shifted to move the covers back, and he stretched out beside her. He lifted her arm nearest him, kissed her hand and slipped it under his arm. Instantly, she used that arm to urge him close, to encourage a kiss, and he went to her with a smile, trading soft kisses and little bites until she sighed, restless again. 

When Thorin drew away, Billa’s gaze was soft and deep with emotion, and he had to stroke her cheek, then down to trace the neckline of her shift, following the flush of her skin. She sighed again, a small tremor shaking her, and Thorin let his hand drift down her breast to her belly and back. She stretched with trembling sensuality under his touch, and he stroked up her waist to her breast and caressed the sensitive underside with short strokes of his palm. 

“I love you,” she said softly, smiling up at him. Thorin shifted to kiss her, then pillowed his head next to hers again. 

“And I you, sweet Pearl.” 

Billa turned on her side and stroked his chest, finding what bits of skin she could not covered by bandages. 

“What may I do for you, my love?” 

“I am well content, Billa.” 

“But...um...you’re not…” 

“Oh,” he murmured, leaning in to take her lush mouth. “There is plenty of want, believe it. And need for your touch. But…” 

“But?” Her brow creased in a frown, and Thorin kissed between her brows until it eased, and nudged his nose against hers. 

“But I took my pleasure from my own hand before I came to you, lest I rise untimely and make you uncomfortable. Make us both uncomfortable in our necessity to wait.” 

“Oh,” she blinked. “I… you…” Her increased blush was visible even in the lower light of the room. “That’s….” She stroked his chest, her eyes lowered. “That’s…” she said once more. And took a deep, shivering breath. 

A wave of desire swept through him, tinder catching flame. “You _like_ knowing I have such need for you,” he said, hauling her flush against him, his voice lowering to a deep, longing rasp. 

He kissed her hungrily, and let his hand stray down her side to her lush bottom. She whimpered against his mouth, her body melting into his, and he pressed her to him, rolling his hips against hers. He leaned in, pressed forehead to forehead, speaking to her, his breath ragged, into the space between them. 

“Then you might like to hear that I’ve taken my pleasure, thinking of you, several times today. Three wonderful, frustrating times, rare Pearl, from watching how glorious you are waking in my arms, kneeling in garden dirt, with flour dusting your cheek, or the joy lighting your face from beating Ori at target practice with his own slingshot. You are grace and light and hidden, clever strength, my Pearl, my One, and sometimes it shakes me with need to see you.” 

Billa keened, long and low, and tilted her face to offer a kiss, her hands clutching at his back. He feasted on her mouth, on her soft, muffled sounds a few long moments, their rocking steady and implacable. He stroked her from thigh to nape, once and again, then gently rolled her onto her back, his mouth still on hers as he stroked her from shoulder to breast to belly. 

Thorin pulled back slightly to nuzzle his nose against her cheek, as he cupped her breast, stroked that place on her nipple that made her shiver and sigh with demanding pleasure. He let his hand wander down her stomach and belly, listening to her breath quicken, and rested his hand on the arch of bone above her quim. She panted, clutching at his arm. 

“Too far?” 

“No,” she breathed. “No, it’s not. Though. I can’t feel the warmth of your hand.” 

He swallowed hard. “Might I put my hand underneath your shift?” 

In reply, she arched, drawing in a slow, wanting breath, her small frame jerking as she trembled. She tugged the hem of her shift up herself, and Thorin slid his hand up her cloth-covered thigh, cupped the curve of her hip, and gently stroked the insides of her thighs as she parted them for him, but went no further. Billa huffed out a longing, frustrated breath, her hips moving in tiny pulses, and turned to brush his lips with hers. 

“Tell me more?” 

“Mmmm,” he replied, considering. “Tell you how I consider the shape of your breasts, how I fight not to stare, most especially when they are free of bodice or binding, how often my palms itch to touch, to learn the shape of them?” He brushed his hand back up to cup one breast, to stroke and tease, and reveled in her shivering sigh. 

“How I love to touch you like this, see you respond so even though we are not skin to skin. Shall I tell you I know your breasts are beautiful, supple and lush, with skin I am sure is as soft as rose petals, but that I wonder if they are tipped with the same ruby hue as your lips, or are they paler, and how I will delight in mapping every inch, not just of your breasts but all of you with my hands and mouth?” 

Billa cried out, long and low, her hips jerking, and he held her breast more firmly, pressing in, his thumb and forefinger tight on her nipple, and she thrashed and buckled under his touch, her mouth seeking his. He remained slightly out of reach, and watched her eyelids flutter, open, her mouth parted and panting. He rewarded her with a slow, rolling pinch and she shuddered, her eyelids flickering. 

“Could it be that you want my mouth on you now, suckling until you reach your peak again? Would you allow that?” 

“Please, please, Thorin.” 

“Oh,” he said, panting against her cheek. “I am near-ready for you, again, _again_.” 

“Thorin,” she gasped, her breath ragged. 

“Will you allow, may I, stroke between your legs, Billa? Please." 

“Yes!” she cried, arching, buckling, seeking his touch, yet seeming to peak without it. Thorin cried out himself, his hand flying to cup between her legs, giving her something to push against and she shuddered, peaking again, her smallclothes drenched from her juices...and he could smell her, ready, so ready for him, and groaned as he set his mouth to her breast, seeking her taste through the cotton. 

He found the little cleft that hid the root of her pearl and pressed his thumb there, finding the slender shaft beneath her flesh. She rolled like a wave under his hand, his mouth, her cries like music in his ears, peaking once more. 

_”Kurdûnuh,”_ , she named him, as her breath evened out, her voice soft with love. She rested her hand on his head, inviting him to linger. “Oh my heart.” 

_”Kurdûnizu,”_ he whispered into her skin, love for her swelling in his breast, their bond bright and shining under his heart, and found himself near to tears, humbled, grateful. _”Kurdûnizu,_ Belladonna, _kurdûnizu.”_ And set his mouth to her breast again, choosing to lavish care on the other. He raised his hand to cradle it, found her scent, traces of her arousal on his fingers and shook with passion, with need. 

“Billa,” he panted, raising his head to look at her. “Billa, may I….” He closed his eyes, desire near robbing him of words, and trembled in her arms. When he opened them, Billa touched his cheek, concerned. 

“What?” she asked, her voice shaking and rough from her cries. 

“Might I taste you? Press my mouth to you?” 

She gasped, trembling anew. “What…” she asked as she stroked his hair. “Is that what you meant by _taste_ every inch?” He looked up at her, and found her, eyes wide with surprise and if he guessed correctly, innocent interest shading into want. He turned to kiss the tips of her fingers. 

“There is more than one sort of kiss, Belladonna,” he said, voice rough with desire, and watched color flood her cheeks, watched her breath quicken anew. “More than one way to make love, and this...when we come together at last, I will use every skill I have to ready you, to have you liquid and trembling beneath me, easing the way for us to join. I think this will please you, even through the cloth.”

“I expect if you speak to me, touch me, as you have tonight, you shall have short work ahead of you…” she replied, voice hitching, and shifted her legs, making room for him. 

“Billa,” he told her seriously, holding her eyes as he moved down the bed and in between her legs. “I will need hours to properly love you.” The last came out breathless as he caught her scent, rich and savory. He threaded his good arm under one leg and pressed his face to her, inhaling deeply, and they groaned as one, longing thick in their voices. 

“Move as you will _ghivasheluh_ ,” he murmured, and looked up to quirk a smile at her. Her hands were fisted in the sheets and her breast heaving with each breath. “It will let me know I’m doing the right thing,” he added, earnestly, then set to work to the music of her laughter. 

It was fantastically frustrating, to taste the fruits of his labor, but not her sweet slick skin beneath it, seductive shadows of her beauty in cream and deep rose through her soaked and clinging smallclothes. He found again the small root of her pearl through the cotton and stroked it as he worked his tongue against her, chasing her cries.

Thorin was harder with his mouth than he’d be against her skin, though gentle with his fingers as he sought the little bud of her pearl, attempting to nudge her folds open through the cloth. When he dragged his tongue across it, she groaned and pressed into the touch. He sealed his mouth around that one small place as best he could, and gave her no quarter, his thumb on the root, keeping time with her rocking hips. He found himself pressing his cock against the bed, aching for her, and let it spur him on. 

She keened as she rose for him again, panting in her need as she wound tight. He skimmed up her belly to her breast, and cupping her there, pressed in, his fingers tight around her nipple, pinching, rolling, and she broke against his mouth, her hand flying to her own to block her cries. 

“Do not,” he growled, reaching for her hand and tangling their fingers together. He reached for the other, and held her fast as he set his mouth to her again, devouring, chasing her up another peak. And it seemed she liked the frustration of his tender binding, as she bucked against his face, peaking once and again, and as he drew her pleasure out he felt his own crash upon him, a slow, molten wave, one he had not seen coming, lost in her so, and he groaned, heart deep, mouth pressed against her. 

Billa seemed to understand what had happened, for she breathed his name, joyful, delighted as she peaked once more, breaking gentle this time, and he rubbed his nose against her pearl, coaxing a few last tremors from her, then, with one last kiss, rested his head upon her thigh. She freed her hand to pet his hair, his cheek. It took him some time to find his voice.

“Did I say hours to love you properly? I meant weeks.” 

“You mean days.” 

“I mean weeks.” 

Billa hummed, amused and tired, and Thorin managed to shift himself enough to kiss her knuckles, tip his head back, meet her smiling eyes.

“This was a gift, my Pearl.” 

“And I thank you for it,” she replied, glowing. 

Thorin shook his head. “I was thanking _you_.” 

“Oh!” She blushed sweetly. “Oh, um.” She grinned. “My pleasure. And yours? Did you….” 

Groaning, he lay his head on her thigh again. “Yes, a _fourth_ time. Enchantress.” 

“I lost count of mine,” she confessed in a whisper. “I’ve never...not that many, alone.” She continued to stroke his hair. “I feel you down there being smug,” she added, laughter in her voice. 

“I am sleeping,” he lied, hiding his proud grin against her thigh. “Though I shouldn’t. I…” he continued, with grimace. “If I might borrow the throw as cover...I must fetch clean clothes.” 

“You’re most welcome, my love. I should do the same….” They both sighed, and didn’t move. 

“Dearheart, are you asleep, truly?” 

“No,” he replied, kissing her thigh and propping himself on his good arm. “I simply don’t want to leave.” 

“Oh,” she whispered, her smile bright and shy. 

“One day,” he vowed, remembering his thoughts from the night they set their beads as he made his way off the bed. “I propose locking ourselves away in a room to teach one another the craft of lovemaking…” He wrapped the throw around him, and came to the head of the bed for a kiss. “Until we both reach our mastery.” 

She beamed up at him. “Agreed. Hurry back.” 

“I will, after I rinse these out. Traveling tomorrow.” 

“A good idea. I am rather….” She blushed again. 

“You are rather glorious, my pearl,” he murmured, and offered one more kiss. He glanced back at her as he left the room, and she was still smiling at him, glowing with love. 

When he returned, she was tucked up in bed in her other shift, her own quick-washed clothing drying by the fire. The covers were turned back for him, and she came into his arms easily and tilted her head back to smile at him. Whatever she saw in his face made her gaze shift and soften into something quite extraordinary, and Thorin found himself smiling into her eyes, until his own, grown heavy, shut in sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, seriously, this was just going to be a few paragraphs and then the departure, not 7500 words. 
> 
> Hardest (no pun intended Thorin, sorry) couple to write a slow burn for, ever.


	15. Of A Renewed Quest and...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to get back on the road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I am so sorry for making you wait so long, blah blah writer's block, blah blah chronic pain, blah blah fibromyalgea, blah blah depression, blah blah shame spiral every time someone asks me when the next chapter comes out. The fact of the matter is there's not a whole lot of energy for creativity, and has not been for the better part of a year. So THIS PART of this chapter is done, it's tiny, but it's proof the story isn't dead. I'll post the rest in small bites if/when/until i get back up to speed.
> 
> There's a plan B where I just give up and post what is written and my notes. I'm not there yet. 
> 
> It would be a kindness, until I can get back on my feet, that you enjoy the stories that are here, and not push me about what's not. It's more counterproductive than you could ever imagine. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me!

Billa should have anticipated it, but the reality of once more resuming their quest had Thorin withdrawing to what Billa privately termed a formal glower. The mantle of a king was squarely back on his shoulders and well, sweet Yavanna, it just set her teeth on edge. 

Yes, there were tiny smiles and claps on the shoulder for his nephews and Balin, but no one would be exactly cheerful, she supposed, heading toward Mirkwood and a dragon. And Billa was, to be sure, watching for any hitches or signs of pain from Thorin. 

She was being unreasonable, she knew she was being unreasonable, and she could not seem to stop herself. Her beloved was a leader, a king, and she really ought to have expected this. They had been travelling for months together, she _knew_ how serious this quest was, how much it meant to him, to all the dwarrow, she knew that his gruffness came from his great heart. She knew their purpose was dangerous and that Thorin was doing what he must to see them safely on their way.

She missed him, and with him striding about, listening to Fili’s report about what was packed where right in front of her, that was one of the silliest things she’d ever thought.

Billa might be harboring some gruffness herself, having been deprived of a morning cuddle. She had been bundled down to the bathing room and dumped next to a hot bath with one (only one!) sweet kiss before she really knew what was happening. 

What saved Thorin from a pair of blistered ears was the hitch of his breath against her mouth when she opened to him, and the nosegay she found outside the bathing room door when she was done, one that spoke of such passion and regard it should have scorched the floorboards. 

She touched the flowers, which she’d pinned to her jacket, and bent to inhale their sweet scent for just a moment, before continuing on with her own chores. 

“And what’s this then, my lady?” Bofur asked, his natural cheer bringing a smile to Billa’s face, though she blinked at the title. 

“Bofur,” she frowned. “Please call me Billa.” 

“You’re going to have to get used to it, lass,” he said kindly. “We shoulda been a might more respectful, see, all along, and with….

Billa spoke over him. “I’d prefer that _my friends_ call me Billa.” Bofur blushed and winked at her. 

“Well,” he said, his voice a little rough. “Can’t stand to let a lady down, can I Billa, with such a nice invitation, and ye’ve brought me food, too.”  
“It’s my version of cram, and I’ve made up packets for everyone, so that we won’t get caught short if…” 

He gave a short, rueful laugh. “If we fall through another floor and lose our packs? Good thinkin.’” He took the packet and as she turned to go, he plucked at her sleeve gently. 

“Hadn’t had a chance to give you my congratulations proper,” he said softly, his smile gone serious. “I’m glad m’wish came true.” 

“The one where you wished the best for me?” 

“Aye,” he said, his voice and expression full of affection...and then his eyes began to twinkle with mischief. “And the unvoiced one where I wished for Thorin to get his head out his ar...” 

Billa swatted him with her free hand, blushing furiously, and a giggle bursting out. “Thank you _in any case_.” She said, and with a roll of her eyes, went on with her mission. 


End file.
